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RlVBRBY. 

WAKE-ROBIN. 
WINTER  SUNSHINE. 
LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY. 
FRESH  FIELDS. 
INDOOR  STUDIES. 

BIRDS  AND  POETS,  with  Other  Papers. 
PEPACTON,  and  Other  Sketches. 
SIGNS  AND  SEASONS. 
WHITMAN  :  A  STUDY. 

A  YEAR  IN  THE  FIELDS.  Selections  appropri- 
ate to  each  season  of  the  year,  from  the  writings  of 
John  Burroughs.  Illustrated  from  Photographs, 
by  CLIFTON  JOHNSON.  i2ino,  {1.50. 

WHITMAN:  A  Study.     Riverside  Edition.     i2mo, 

$1.50,  net. 
WAKE-ROBIN.     Riverside  Aldine  Series.     i6mo, 

fl.OO, 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


LOCUSTS   AND   WILD 
HONEY 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

£,  Cambriboe 


Copyright,  1879,  1895, 
BY  JOHN  BURROUGHa 

All  rights  reserved 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


PEEFACE 

I  AM  aware  that  for  the  most  part  the  title  of  my 
book  is  an  allegory  rather  than  an  actual  description ; 
but  readers  who  have  followed  me  heretofore,  I  trust, 
will  not  be  puzzled  or  misled  in  the  present  case  by 
any  want  of  literalness  in  the  matter  of  the  title.  If 
the  name  carries  with  it  a  suggestion  of  the  wild  and 
delectable  in  nature,  of  the  free  and  ungarnered  har- 
vests which  the  wilderness  everywhere  affords  to  the 
observing  eye  and  ear,  it  will  prove  sufficiently  ex- 
plicit for  my  purpose. 

Esorus-ON-HuDsoN,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS 


I.  THE  PASTORAL  BEES 1 

II.  SHARP  EYES 27 

III.  STRAWBERRIES 53 

IV.  Is  IT  GOING  TO  RAIN? 65 

V.  SPECKLED  TROUT 93 

VI.  BIRDS  AND  BIRDS 125 

VII.  A  BED  OF  BOUGHS 149 

VIII.   BIRDS'-XESTING 177 

IX.  THE  HALCYON  IN  CANADA. 189 

INDEX 231 


LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 


THE   PASTORAL   BEES 

rMHE  honey-bee  goes  forth  from  the  hive  in  spring 
like  the  dove  from  Noah's  ark,  and  it  is  not 
till  after  many  days  that  she  brings  back  the  olive 
leaf,  which  in  this  case  is  a  pellet  of  golden  pollen 
upon  each  hip,  usually  obtained  from  the  alder  or 
swamp  willow.  In  a  country  where  maple  sugar  is 
made  the  bees  get  their  first  taste  of  sweet  from  the 
sap  as  it  flows  from  the  spiles,  or  as  it  dries  and  is 
condensed  upon  the  sides  of  the  buckets.  They 
will  sometimes,  in  their  eagerness,  come  about  the 
boiling-place  and  be  overwhelmed  by  the  steam  and 
the  smoke.  But  bees  appear  to  be  more  eager  for 
bread  in  the  spring  than  for  honey:  their  supply  of 
this  article,  perhaps,  does  not  keep  as  well  as  their 
stores  of  the  latter;  hence  fresh  bread,  in  the  shape 
of  new  pollen,  is  diligently  sought  for.  My  bees 
get  their  first  supplies  from  the  catkins  of  the  wil- 
lows. How  quickly  they  find  them  out!  If  but 
one  catkin  opens  anywhere  within  range,  a  bee  is  on 


2  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

hand  that  very  hour  to  rifle  it,  and  it  is  a  most 
pleasing  experience  to  stand  near  the  hive  some  mild 
April  day  and  see  them  come  pouring  in  with  their 
little  baskets  packed  with  this  first  fruitage  of  the 
spring.  They  will  have  new  bread  now ;  they  have 
been  to  mill  in  good  earnest ;  see  their  dusty  coats, 
and  the  golden  grist  they  bring  home  with  them. 

When  a  bee  brings  pollen  into  the  hive  he  ad- 
vances to  the  cell  in  which  it  is  to  be  deposited  and 
kicks  it  off,  as  one  might  his  overalls  or  rubber  boots, 
making  one  foot  help  the  other;  then  he  walks  off 
without  ever  looking  behind  him;  another  bee,  one 
of  the  indoor  hands,  comes  along  and  rams  it  down 
with  his  head  and  packs  it  into  the  cell,  as  the  dairy- 
maid packs  butter  into  a  firkin  Avith  a  ladle. 

The  first  spring  wild-flowers,  whose  shy  faces 
among  the  dry  leaves  and  rocks  are  so  welcome,  are 
rarely  frequented  by  the  bee.  The  anemone,  the 
hepatica,  the  bloodroot,  the  arbutus,  the  numerous 
violets,  the  spring  beauty,  the  corydalis,  etc.,  woo 
all  lovers  of  nature,  but  seldom  woo  the  honey-lov- 
ing bee.  The  arbutus,  lying  low  and  keeping  green 
all  winter,  attains  to  perfume  and  honey,  but  only 
once  have  I  seen  it  frequented  by  bees. 

The  first  honey  is  perhaps  obtained  from  the  flow- 
ers of  the  red  maple  and  the  golden  willow.  The 
latter  sends  forth  a  wild,  delicious  perfume.  The 
sugar  maple  blooms  a  little  later,  and  from  its  silken 
tassels  a  rich  nectar  is  gathered.  My  bees  will  not 
label  these  different  varieties  for  me,  as  I  really  wish 
they  would.  Honey  from  the  maple,  a  tree  so  clean 


THE   PASTORAL   BEES  3 

and  wholesome,  and  full  of  such  virtues  every  way, 
would  be  something  to  put  one's  tongue  to.  Or 
that  from  the  blossoms  of  the  apple,  the  peach,  the 
cherry,  the  quince,  the  currant,  —  one  would  like  a 
card  of  each  of  these  varieties  to  note  their  peculiar 
qualities.  The  apple-blossom  is  very  important  to 
the  bees.  A  single  swarm  has  been  known  to  gain 
twenty  pounds  in  weight  during  its  continuance. 
Bees  love  the  ripened  fruit,  too,  and  in  August  and 
September  will  suck  themselves  tipsy  upon  varieties 
like  the  sops-of-wine. 

The  interval  between  the  blooming  of  the  fruit- 
trees  and  that  of  the  clover  and  raspberry  is  bridged 
over  in  many  localities  by  the  honey  locust.  What 
a  delightful  summer  murmur  these  trees  send  forth 
at  this  season!  I  know  nothing  about  the  quality 
of  the  honey,  but  it  ought  to  keep  well.  But  when 
the  red  raspberry  blooms,  the  fountains  of  plenty  are 
unsealed  indeed;  what  a  commotion  about  the  hives 
then,  especially  in  localities  where  it  is  extensively 
cultivated,  as  in  places  along  the  Hudson !  The  deli- 
cate white  clover,  which  begins  to  bloom  about  the 
same  time,  is  neglected;  even  honey  itself  is  passed 
by  for  this  modest,  colorless,  all  but  odorless  flower. 
A  field  of  these  berries  in  June  sends  forth  a  contin- 
uous murmur  like  that  of  an  enormous  hive.  The 
honey  is  not  so  white  as  that  obtained  from  clover, 
but  it  is  easier  gathered ;  it  is  in  shallow  cups,  while 
that  of  the  clover  is  in  deep  tubes.  The  bees  are  up 
and  at  it  before  sunrise,  and  it  takes  a  brisk  shower 
to  drive  them  in.  But  the  clover  blooms  later  and 


4  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

blooms  everywhere,  and  is  the  staple  source  of  sup- 
ply of  the  finest  quality  of  honey.  The  red  clover 
yields  up  its  stores  only  to  the  longer  proboscis  of 
the  bumblebee,  else  the  bee  pasturage  of  our  agricul- 
tural districts  would  be  unequaled.  I  do  not  know 
from  what  the  famous  honey  of  Chamouni  in  the 
Alps  is  made,  but  it  can  hardly  surpass  our  best  pro- 
ducts.  The  snow-white  honey  of  Anatolia  in  Asiatic 
Turkey,  which  is  regularly  sent  to  Constantinople 
for  the  use  of  the  grand  seignior  and  the  ladies  of 
his  seraglio,  is  obtained  from  the  cotton  plant,  which 
makes  me  think  that  the  white  clover  does  not  flour- 
ish there.  The  white  clover  is  indigenous  with  us; 
its  seeds  seem  latent  in  the  ground,  and  the  applica- 
tion of  certain  stimulants  to  the  soil,  like  wood 
ashes,  causes  them  to  germinate  and  spring  up. 

The  rose,  with  all  its  beauty  and  perfume,  yields 
no  honey  to  the  bee,  unless  the  wild  species  be 
sought  by  the  bumblebee. 

Among  the  humbler  plants  let  me  not  forget  the 
dandelion  that  so  early  dots  the  sunny  slopes,  and 
upon  which  the  bee  languidly  grazes,  wallowing  to 
his  knees  in  the  golden  but  not  over-succulent  pas- 
turage. From  the  blooming  rye  and  wheat  the  bee 
gathers  pollen,  also  from  the  obscure  blossoms  of  In- 
dian corn.  Among  weeds,  catnip  is  the  great  favor- 
ite. It  lasts  nearly  the  whole  season  and  yields 
richly.  It  could  no  doubt  be  profitably  cultivated 
in  some  localities,  and  catnip  honey  would  be  a  nov- 
elty in  the  market.  It  would  probably  partake  of 
the  aromatic  properties  of  the  plant  from  which  it 
was  derived. 


THE   PASTORAL  BEES  5 

Among  your  stores  of  honey  gathered  before  mid- 
summer you  may  chance  upon  a  card,  or  mayhap  only 
a  square  inch  or  two  of  comb,  in  which  the  liquid  is 
as  transparent  as  water,  of  a  delicious  quality,  with 
a  slight  flavor  of  mint.  This  is  the  product  of  the 
linden  or  basswood,.of  all  the  trees  in  our  forest  the 
one  most  beloved  by  the  bees.  Melissa,  the  goddess 
of  honey,  has  placed  her  seal  upon  this  tree.  The 
wild  swarms  in  the  woods  frequently  reap  a  choice 
harvest  from  it.  I  have  seen  a  mountain-side  thickly 
studded  with  it,  its  straight,  tall,  smooth,  light  gray 
shaft  carrying  its  deep  green  crown  far  aloft,  like  the 
tulip  or  maple. 

In  some  of  the  Northwestern  States  there  are  large 
forests  of  it,  and  the  amount  of  honey  reported  stored 
by  strong  swarms  in  this  section  during  the  time  the 
tree  is  in  bloom  is  quite  incredible.  As  a  shade  and 
ornamental  tree  the  linden  is  fully  equal  to  the 
maple,  and,  if  it  was  as  extensively  planted  and  cared 
for,  our  supplies  of  virgin  honey  would  be  greatly 
increased.  The  famous  honey  of  Lithuania  in  Rus- 
sia is  the  product  of  the  linden. 

It  is  a  homely  old  stanza  current  among  bee  folk 
that 

"A  swarm  of  bees  in  May 

Is  worth  a  load  of  hay; 

A  swarm  of  bees  in  June 

Is  worth  a  silver  spoon; 

But  a  swarm  in  July 

Is  not  worth  a  fly." 

A  swarm  in  May  is  indeed  a  treasure;  it  is,  like 
an  April  baby,  sure  to  thrive,  and  will  very  likely 


6  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

itself  send  out  a  swarm  a  month  or  two  later :  but  a 
swarm  in  July  is  not  to  be  despised;  it  will  store  no 
clover  or  linden  honey  for  the  "  grand  seignior  and 
the  ladies  of  his  seraglio,"  but  plenty  of  the  rank 
and  wholesome  poor  man's  nectar,  the  sun-tanned 
product  of  the  plebeian  buckwheat.  Buckwheat 
honey  is  the  black  sheep  in  this  white  flock,  but 
there  is  spirit  and  character  in  it.  It  lays  hold  of 
the  taste  in  no  equivocal  manner,  especially  when  at 
a  winter  breakfast  it  meets  its  fellow,  the  russet 
buckwheat  cake.  Bread  with  honey  to  cover  it  from 
the  same  stalk  is  double  good  fortune.  It  is  not 
black,  either,  but  nut-brown,  and  belongs  to  the 
same  class  of  goods  as  Herrick's 

"Nut-brown  mirth  and  russet  wit." 

How  the  bees  love  it,  and  they  bring  the  delicious 
odor  of  the  blooming  plant  to  the  hive  with  them,  so 
that  in  the  moist  warm  twilight  the  apiary  is  redo- 
lent with  the  perfume  of  buckwheat. 

Yet  evidently  it  is  not  the  perfume  of  any  flower 
that  attracts  the  bees;  they  pay  no  attention  to  the 
sweet-scented  lilac,  or  to  heliotrope,  but  work  upon 
sumach,  silkweed,  and  the  hateful  snapdragon.  In 
September  they  are  hard  pressed,  and  do  well  if  they 
pick  up  enough  sweet  to  pay  the  running  expenses 
of  their  establishment.  The  purple  asters  and  the 
goldenrod  are  about  all  that  remain  to  them. 

Bees  will  go  three  or  four  miles  in  quest  of  honey, 
but  it  is  a  great  advantage  to  move  the  hive  near  the 
good  pasturage,  as  has  been  the  custom  from  the  ear- 
liest times  in  the  Old  World.  Some  enterprising 


THE   PASTORAL  BEES  7 

person,  taking  a  hint  perhaps  from  the  ancient 
Egyptians,  who  had  floating  apiaries  on  the  Nile,  has 
tried  the  experient  of  floating  several  hundred  colo- 
nies north  on  the  Mississippi,  starting  from  New 
Orleans  and  following  the  opening  season  up,  thus 
realizing  a  sort  of  perpetual  May  or  June,  the  chief 
attraction  being  the  blossoms  of  the  river  willow, 
which  yield  honey  of  rare  excellence.  Some  of  the 
bees  were  no  doubt  left  behind,  but  the  amount  of 
virgin  honey  secured  must  have  been  very  great. 
In  September  they  should  have  begun  the  return 
trip,  following  the  retreating  summer  south. 

It  is  the  making  of  the  wax  that  costs  with  the 
bee.  As  with  the  poet,  the  form,  the  receptacle, 
gives  him  more  trouble  than  the  sweet  that  fills  it, 
though,  to  be  sure,  there  is  always  more  or  less 
empty  comb  in  both  cases.  The  honey  he  can  have 
for  the  gathering,  but  the  wax  he  must  make  him- 
self, —  must  evolve  from  his  own  inner  consciousness. 
When  wax  is  to  be  made,  the  wax-makers  fill  them- 
selves with  honey  and  retire  into  their  chamber  for 
private  meditation;  it  is  like  some  solemn  religious 
rite:  they  take  hold  of  hands,  or  hook  themselves 
together  in  long  lines  that  hang  in  festoons  from  the 
top  of  the  hive,  and  wait  for  the  miracle  to  transpire. 
After  about  twenty-four  hours  their  patience  is  re- 
warded, the  honey  is  turned  into  wax,  minute  scales 
of  which  are  secreted  from  between  the  rings  of  the 
abdomen  of  each  bee;  this  is  taken  off  and  from  it 
the  comb  is  built  up.  It  is  calculated  that  about 
twenty-five  pounds  of  honey  are  used  in  elaborating 


8  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HOXEY 

one  pound  of  comb,  to  say  nothing  of  the  time  that 
is  lost.  Hence  the  importance,  in  an  economical 
point  of  view,  of  a  recent  device  by  which  the  honey 
is  extracted  and  the  comb  returned  intact  to  the  bees. 
But  honey  without  the  comb  is  the  perfume  without 
the  rose,  —  it  is  sweet  merely,  and  soon  degenerates 
into  candy.  Half  the  delectableness  is  in  breaking 
down  these  frail  and  exquisite  walls  yourself,  and 
tasting  the  nectar  before  it  has  lost  its  freshness  by 
contact  with  the  air.  Then  the  comb  is  a  sort  of 
shield  or  foil  that  prevents  the  tongue  from  being 
overwhelmed  by  the  first  shock  of  the  sweet. 

The  drones  have  the  least  enviable  time  of  it. 
Their  foothold  in  the  hive  is  very  precarious.  They 
look  like  the  giants,  the  lords  of  the  swarm,  but 
they  are  really  the  tools.  Their  loud,  threatening 
hum  has  no  sting  to  back  it  up,  and  their  size  and 
noise  make  them  only  the  more  conspicuous  marks 
for  the  birds.  They  are  all  candidates  for  the  favors 
of  the  queen,  a  fatal  felicity  that  is  vouchsafed  to  but 
one.  Fatal,  I  say,  for  it  is  a  singular  fact  in  the 
history  of  bees  that  the  fecundation  of  the  queen 
costs  the  male  his  life.  Yet  day  after  day  the 
drones  go  forth,  threading  the  mazes  of  the  air  in 
hopes  of  meeting  her  whom  to  meet  is  death.  The 
queen  only  leaves  the  hive  once,  except  when  she 
leads  away  the  swarm,  and  as  she  makes  no  appoint- 
ment with  the  male,  but  wanders  here  and  there, 
drones  enough  are  provided  to  meet  all  the  contin- 
gencies of  the  case. 

One  advantage,  at  least,  results  from  this  system 


THE    PASTOKAL    BEES  9 

of  things:  there  is  no  incontinence  among  the  males 
in  this  republic ! 

Toward  the  close  of  the  season,  say  in  July  or 
August,  the  fiat  goes  forth  that  the  drones  must  die ; 
there  is  no  further  use  for  them.  Then  the  poor 
creatures,  how  they  are  huddled  and  hustled  about, 
trying  to  hide  in  corners  and  byways!  There  is  no 
loud,  defiant  humming  now,  but  abject  fear  seizes 
them.  They  cower  like  hunted  criminals.  I  have 
seen  a  dozen  or  more  of  them  wedge  themselves  into 
a  small  space  between  the  glass  and  the  comb,  where 
the  bees  could  not  get  hold  of  them,  or  where  they 
seemed  to  be  overlooked  in  the  general  slaughter. 
They  will  also  crawl  outside  and  hide  under  the 
edges  of  the  hive.  But  sooner  or  later  they  are  all 
killed  or  kicked  out.  The  drone  makes  no  resist- 
ance, except  to  pull  back  and  try  to  get  away;  but 
(putting  yourself  in  his  place)  with  one  bee  a-hold 
of  your  collar  or  the  hair  of  your  head,  and  another 
a-hold  of  each  arm  or  leg,  and  still  another  feeling 
for  your  waistbands  with  his  sting,  the  odds  are 
greatly  against  you. 

It  is  a  singular  fact,  also,  that  the  queen  is  made, 
not  born.  If  the  entire  population  of  Spain  or 
Great  Britain  were  the  offspring  of  one  mother,  it 
might  be  found  necessary  to  hit  upon  some  device 
by  which  a  royal  baby  could  be  manufactured  out  of 
an  ordinary  one,  or  else  give  up  the  fashion  of  roy- 
alty. All  the  bees  in  the  hive  have  a  common  par- 
entage, and  the  queen  and  the  worker  are  the  same 
in  the  egg  and  in  the  chick;  the  patent  of  royalty 


10  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

is  in  the  cell  and  in  the  food;  the  cell  being  much 
larger,  and  the  food  a  peculiar  stimulating  kind  of 
jelly.  In  certain  contingencies,  such  as  the  loss  of 
the  queen  with  no  eggs  in  the  royal  cells,  the  work- 
ers take  the  larva  of  an  ordinary  bee,  enlarge  the 
cell  by  taking  in  the  two  adjoining  ones,  and  nurse 
it  and  stuff  it  and  coddle  it,  till  at  the  end  of  six- 
teen days  it  comes  out  a  queen.  But  ordinarily,  in 
the  natural  course  of  events,  the  young  queen  is 
kept  a  prisoner  in  her  cell  till  the  old  queen  has  left 
with  the  swarm.  Later  on,  the  unhatched  queen  is 
guarded  against  the  reigning  queen,  who  only  wants 
an  opportunity  to  murder  every  royal  scion  in  the 
hive.  At  this  time  both  the  queens,  the  one  a  pris- 
oner and  the  other  at  large,  pipe  defiance  at  each 
other,  a  shrill,  fine,  trumpet-like  note  that  any  ear 
will  at  once  recognize.  This  challenge,  not  being 
allowed  to  be  accepted  by  either  party,  is  followed, 
in  a  day  or  two,  by  the  abdication  of  the  reigning 
queen;  she  leads  out  the  swarm,  and  her  successor 
is  liberated  by  her  keepers,  who,  in  her  time,  abdi- 
cates in  favor  of  the  next  younger.  When  the  bees 
have  decided  that  no  more  swarms  can  issue,  the 
reigning  queen  is  allowed  to  use  her  stiletto  upon 
her  unhatched  sisters.  Cases  have  been  known 
where  two  queens  issued  at  the  same  time,  Avhen  a 
mortal  combat  ensued,  encouraged  by  the  workers, 
who  formed  a  ring  about  them,  but  showed  no  pref- 
erence, and  recognized  the  victor  as  the  lawful  sov- 
ereign. For  these  and  many  other  curious  facts  we 
are  indebted  to  the  blind  Huber. 


THE   PASTORAL  BEES  11 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  the  position  of  the  queen 
cells  is  always  vertical,  while  that  of  the  drones  and 
workers  is  horizontal;  majesty  stands  on  its  head, 
which  fact  may  be  a  part  of  the  secret. 

The  notion  has  always  very  generally  prevailed 
that  the  queen  of  the  bees  is  an  absolute  ruler,  and 
issues  her  royal  orders  to  willing  subjects.  Hence 
Napoleon  the  First  sprinkled  the  symbolic  bees  over 
the  imperial  mantle  that  bore  the  arms  of  his  dynasty ; 
and  in  the  country  of  the  Pharaohs  the  bee  was  used 
as  the  emblem  of  a  people  sweetly  submissive  to  the 
orders  of  its  king.  But  the  fact  is,  a  swarm  of  bees 
is  an  absolute  democracy,  and  kings  and  despots  can 
find  no  warrant  in  their  example.  The  power  and 
authority  are  entirely  vested  in  the  great  mass,  the 
workers.  They  furnish  all  the  brains  and  foresight 
of  the  colony,  and  administer  its  affairs.  Their  word 
is  law,  and  both  king  and  queen  must  obey.  They 
regulate  the  swarming,  and  give  the  signal  for  the 
swarm  to  issue  from  the  hive ;  they  select  and  make 
ready  the  tree  in  the  woods  and  conduct  the  queen 
to  it. 

The  peculiar  office  and  sacredness  of  the  queen 
consists  in  the  fact  that  she  is  the  mother  of  the 
swarm,  and  the  bees  love  and  cherish  her  as  a  mo- 
ther and  not  as  a  sovereign.  She  is  the  sole  female 
bee  in  the  hive,  and  the  swarm  clings  to  her  because 
she  is  their  life.  Deprived  of  their  queen,  and  of 
all  brood  from  which  to  rear  one,  the  swarm  loses 
all  heart  and  soon  dies,  though  there  be  an  abun- 
dance of  honey  in  the  hive. 


12        LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

The  common  bees  will  never  use  their  sting  upon 
the  queen;  if  she  is  to  be  disposed  of,  they  starve 
her  to  death;  and  the  queen  herself  will  sting  no- 
thing but  royalty,  —  nothing  but  a  rival  queen. 

The  queen,  I  say,  is  the  mother  bee;  it  is  un- 
doubtedly complimenting  her  to  call  her  a  queen  and 
invest  her  with  regal  authority,  yet  she  is  a  superb 
creature,  and  looks  every  inch  a  queen.  It  is  an 
event  to  distinguish  her  amid  the  mass  of  bees  when 
the  swarm  alights;  it  awakens  a  thrill.  Before  you 
have  seen  a  queen,  you  wonder  if  this  or  that  bee, 
which  seems  a  little  larger  than  its  fellows,  is  not 
she,  but  when  you  once  really  set  eyes  upon  her  you 
do  not  doubt  for  a  moment.  You  know  that  is  the 
queen.  That  long,  elegant,  shining,  feminine-look- 
ing creature  can  be  none  less  than  royalty.  How 
beautifully  her  body  tapers,  how  distinguished  she 
looks,  how  deliberate  her  movements!  The  bees  do 
not  fall  down  before  her,  but  caress  her  and  touch 
her  person.  The  drones,  or  males,  are  large  bees, 
too,  but  coarse,  blunt,  broad-shouldered,  masculine- 
looking.  There  is  but  one  fact  or  incident  in  the 
life  of  the  queen  that  looks  imperial  and  authorita- 
tive: Huber  relates  that  when  the  old  queen  is  re- 
strained in  her  movements  by  the  workers,  and  pre- 
vented from  destroying  the  young  queens  in  their 
cells,  she  assumes  a  peculiar  attitude  and  utters  a 
note  that  strikes  every  bee  motionless  and  makes 
every  head  bow;  while  this  sound  lasts,  not  a  bee 
stirs,  but  all  look  abashed  and  humbled :  yet  whether 
the  emotion  is  one  of  fear,  or  reverence,  or  of  sym- 


THE   PASTORAL   BEES  13 

pathy  with  the  distress  of  the  queen  mother,  is  hard 
to  determine.  The  moment  it  ceases  and  she  ad- 
vances again  toward  the  royal  cells,  the  bees  hite  and 
pull  and  insult  her  as  before. 

I  always  feel  that  I  have  missed  some  good  for- 
tune if  I  am  away  from  home  when  my  bees  swarm. 
What  a  delightful  summer  sound  it  is!  how  they 
come  pouring  out  of  the  hive,  twenty  or  thirty  thou- 
sand bees,  each  striving  to  get  out  first !  It  is  as 
when  the  dam  gives  way  and  lets  the  waters  loose ;  it 
is  a  flood  of  bees  which  breaks  upward  into  the  air, 
and  becomes  a  maze  of  whirling  black  lines  to  the 
eye,  and  a  soft  chorus  of  myriad  musical  sounds  to 
the  ear.  This  way  and  that  way  they  drift,  now 
contracting,  now  expanding,  rising,  sinking,  growing 
thick  about  some  branch  or  bush,  then  dispersing 
and  massing  at  some  other  point,  till  finally  they  be- 
gin to  alight  in  earnest,  when  in  a  few  moments  the 
whole  swarm  is  collected  upon  the  branch,  forming 
a  bunch  perhaps  as  large  as  a  two-gallon  measure. 
Here  they  will  hang  from  one  to  three  or  four  hours 
or  until  a  suitable  tree  in  the  woods  is  looked  up, 
when,  if  they  have  not  been  offered  a  hive  in  the 
mean  time,  they  are  up  and  off.  In  hiving  them, 
if  any  accident  happens  to  the  queen  the  enterprise 
miscarries  at  once.  One  day  I  shook  a  swarm  from 
a  small  pear-tree  into  a  tin  pan,  set  the  pan  down 
on  a  shawl  spread  beneath  the  tree,  and  put  the 
hive  over  it.  The  bees  presently  all  crawled  up 
into  it,  and  all  seemed  to  go  well  for  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes,  when  I  observed  that  something  was  wrong; 


14  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

the  bees  began  to  buzz  excitedly  and  to  rush  about 
in  a  bewildered  manner,  then  they  took  to  the  wing 
and  all  returned  to  the  parent  stock.  On  lifting  up 
the  pan,  I  found  beneath  it  the  queen  with  three  or 
four  other  bees.  She  had  been  one  of  the  first  to 
fall,  had  missed  the  pan  in  her  descent,  and  I  had 
set  it  upon  her.  I  conveyed  her  tenderly  back  to 
the  hive,  but  either  the  accident  terminated  fatally 
with  her,  or  else  the  young  queen  had  been  liberated 
in  the  interim,  and  one  of  them  had  fallen  in  com- 
bat, for  it  was  ten  days  before  the  swarm  issued  a 
second  time. 

No  one,  to  my  knowledge,  has  ever  seen  the  bees 
house-hunting  in  the  woods.  Yet  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  they  look  up  new  quarters  either  before 
or  on  the  day  the  swarm  issues.  For  all  bees  are 
wild  bees  and  incapable  of  domestication;  that  is, 
the  instinct  to  go  back  to  nature  and  take  up  again 
their  wild  abodes  in  the  trees  is  never  eradicated. 
Years  upon  years  of  life  in  the  apiary  seem  to  have 
no  appreciable  effect  towards  their  final,  permanent 
domestication.  That  every  new  swarm  contemplates 
migrating  to  the  woods,  seems  confirmed  by  the 
fact  that  they  will  only  come  out  when  the  weather 
is  favorable  to  such  an  enterprise,  and  that  a  passing 
cloud,  or  a  sudden  wind,  after  the  bees  are  in  the 
air,  will  usually  drive  them  back  into  the  parent 
hive.  Or  an  attack  upon  them  with  sand  or  gravel, 
or  loose  earth  or  water,  will  quickly  cause  them  to 
change  their  plans.  I  would  not  even  say  but  that, 
when  the  bees  are  going  off,  the  apparently  absurd 


THE   PASTORAL  BEES  15 

practice,  now  entirely  discredited  by  regular  bee- 
keepers but  still  resorted  to  by  unscientific  folk,  of 
beating  upon  tin  pans,  blowing  horns,  and  creating 
an  uproar  generally,  might  not  be  without  good 
results.  Certainly  not  by  drowning  the  "  orders  "  of 
the  queen,  but  by  impressing  the  bees,  as  with  some 
unusual  commotion  in  nature.  Bees  are  easily 
alarmed  and  disconcerted,  and  I  have  known  run- 
away swarms  to  be  brought  down  by  a  farmer  plow- 
ing in  the  field  who  showered  them  with  handfuls 
of  loose  soil. 

I  love  to  see  a  swarm  go  off  —  if  it  is  not  mine, 
and,  if  mine  must  go,  I  want  to  be  on  hand  to  see 
the  fun.  It  is  a  return  to  first  principles  again  by 
a  very  direct  route.  The  past  season  I  witnessed 
two  such  escapes.  One  swarm  had  come  out  the 
day  before,  and,  without  alighting,  had  returned  to 
the  parent  hive,  —  some  hitch  in  the  plan,  perhaps, 
or  may  be  the  queen  had  found  her  wings  too  weak. 
The  next  day  they  came  out  again  and  were  hived. 
But  something  offended  them,  or  else  the  tree  in 
the  woods  —  perhaps  some  royal  old  maple  or  birch, 
holding  its  head  high  above  all  others,  with  snug, 
spacious,  irregular  chambers  and  galleries  —  had  too 
many  attractions ;  for  they  were  presently  discovered 
filling  the  air  over  the  garden,  and  whirling  excitedly 
around.  Gradually  they  began  to  drift  over  the 
street;  a  moment  more,  and  they  had  become  sepa- 
rated from  the  other  bees,  and,  drawing  together  in 
a  more  compact  mass  or  cloud,  away  they  went,  a 
humming,  flying  vortex  of  bees,  the  queen  in  the 


16  LOCUSTS   AXD   WILD   HONEY 

centre,  and  the  swarm  revolving  around  her  as  a 
pivot,  —  over  meadows,  across  creeks  and  swamps, 
straight  for  the  heart  of  the  mountain,  about  a  mile 
distant,  —  slow  at  first,  so  that  the  youth  who  gave 
chase  kept  up  with  them,  but  increasing  their  speed 
till  only  a  foxhound  could  have  kept  them  in  sight. 
I  saw  their  pursuer  laboring  up  the  side  of  the  moun- 
tain; saw  his  white  shirtsleeves  gleam  as  he  entered 
the  woods;  but  he  returned  a  few  hours  afterward 
without  any  clew  as  to  the  particular  tree  in  which 
they  had  taken  refuge  out  of  the  ten  thousand  that 
covered  the  side  of  the  mountain. 

The  other  swarm  came  out  about  one  o'clock  of  a 
hot  July  day,  and  at  once  showed  symptoms  that 
alarmed  the  keeper,  who,  however,  threw  neither 
dirt  nor  water.  The  house  was  situated  on  a  steep 
side-hill.  Behind  it  the  ground  rose,  for  a  hundred 
rods  or  so,  at  an  angle  of  nearly  forty-five  degrees, 
and  the  prospect  of  having  to  chase  them  up  this 
hill,  if  chase  them  we  should,  promised  a  good  trial 
of  wind  at  least;  for  it  soon  became  evident  that 
their  course  lay  in  this  direction.  Determined  to 
have  a  hand,  or  rather  a  foot,  in  the  chase,  I  threw 
off  my  coat  and  hurried  on,  before  the  swarm  was 
yet  fairly  organized  and  under  way.  The  route  soon 
led  me  into  a  field  of  standing  rye,  every  spear  of 
which  held  its  head  above  my  own.  Plunging  reck- 
lessly forward,  my  course  marked  to  those  watching 
from  below  by  the  agitated  and  wriggling  grain,  I 
emerged  from  the  miniature  forest  just  in  time  to  see 
the  runaways  disappearing  over  the  top  of  the  hill, 


THE   PASTORAL   BEES  17 

some  fifty  rods  in  advance  of  me.  Lining  them  as 
well  as  I  could,  I  soon  reached  the  hilltop,  my  breath 
utterly  gone  and  the  perspiration  streaming  from 
every  pore  of  my  skin.  On  the  other  side  the  coun- 
try opened  deep  and  Avide.  A  large  valley  swept 
around  to  the  north,  heavily  wooded  at  its  head  and 
on  its  sides.  It  became  evident  at  once  that  the 
bees  had  made  good  their  escape,  and  that  whether 
they  had  stopped  on  one  side  of  the  valley  or  the 
other,  or  had  indeed  cleared  the  opposite  mountain 
and  gone  into  some  unknown  forest  beyond,  was 
entirely  problematical.  I  turned  back,  therefore, 
thinking  of  the  honey-laden  tree  that  some  of  these 
forests  would  hold  before  the  falling  of  the  leaf. 

I  heard  of  a  youth  in  the  neighborhood  more 
lucky  than  myself  on  a  like  occasion.  It  seems  that 
he  had  got  well  in  advance  of  the  swarm,  whose 
route  lay  over  a  hill,  as  in  my  case,  and  as  he 
neared  the  summit,  hat  in  hand,  the  bees  had  just 
come  up  and  were  all  about  him.  Presently  he  no- 
ticed them  hovering  about  his  straw  hat,  and  alight- 
ing on  his  arm;  and  in  almost  as  brief  a  time  as  it 
takes  to  relate  it,  the  whole  swarm  had  followed  the 
queen  into  his  hat.  Being  near  a  stone  wall,  he 
coolly  deposited  his  prize  upon  it,  quickly  disengaged 
himself  from  the  accommodating  bees,  and  returned 
for  a  hive.  The  explanation  of  this  singular  circum- 
stance no  doubt  is,  that  the  queen,  unused  to  such 
long  and  heavy  flights,  was  obliged  to  alight  from 
very  exhaustion.  It  is  not  very  unusual  for  swarms 
to  be  thus  found  in  remote  fields,  collected  upon  a 
bush  or  branch  of  a  tree. 


18  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

When  a  swarm  migrates  to  the  woods  in  this 
manner,  the  individual  bees,  as  I  have  intimated, 
do  not  move  in  right  lines  or  straight  forward,  like 
a  flock  of  birds,  but  round  and  round,  like  chaff  in 
a  whirlwind.  Unitedly  they  form  a  humming,  re- 
volving, nebulous  mass,  ten  or  fifteen  feet  across, 
which  keeps  just  high  enough  to  clear  all  obstacles, 
except  in  crossing  deep  valleys,  when,  of  course,  it 
may  be  very  high.  The  swarm  seems  to  be  guided 
by  a  line  of  couriers,  which  may  be  seen  (at  least  at 
the  outset)  constantly  going  and  coming.  As  they 
take  a  direct  course,  there  is  always  some  chance  of 
following  them  to  the  tree,  unless  they  go  a  long  dis- 
tance, and  some  obstruction,  like  a  wood  or  a  swamp 
or  a  high  hill,  intervenes,  —  enough  chance,  at  any 
rate,  to  stimulate  the  lookers-on  to  give  vigorous 
chase  as  long  as  their  wind  holds  out.  If  the  bees 
are  successfully  followed  to  their  retreat,  two  plans 
are  feasible,  —  either  to  fell  the  tree  at  once,  and  seek 
to  hive  them,  perhaps  bring  them  home  in  the  sec- 
tion of  the  tree  that  contains  the  cavity;  or  to  leave 
the  tree  till  fall,  then  invite  your  neighbors  and 
go  and  cut  it,  and  see  the  ground  flow  with  honey. 
The  former  course  is  more  business-like;  but  the 
latter  is  the  one  usually  recommended  by  one's 
friends  and  neighbors. 

Perhaps  nearly  one  third  of  all  the  runaway 
swarms  leave  when  no  one  is  about,  and  hence  are 
unseen  and  unheard,  save,  perchance,  by  some  dis- 
tant laborers  in  the  field,  or  by  some  youth  plowing 
on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  who  hears  an  unusual 


THE   PASTORAL  BEES  19 

humming  noise,  and  sees  the  swarm  dimly  whirling 
by  overhead,  and,  maybe,  gives  chase;  or  he  may 
simply  catch  the  sound,  when  he  pauses,  looks 
quickly  around,  but  sees  nothing.  When  he  comes 
in  at  night  he  tells  how  he  heard  or  saw  a  swarm  of 
bees  go  over;  and  perhaps  from  beneath  one  of  the 
hives  in  the  garden  a  black  mass  of  bees  has  disap- 
peared during  the  day. 

They  are  not  partial  as  to  the  kind  of  tree,  — 
pine,  hemlock,  elm,  birch,  maple,  hickory,  —  any 
tree  with  a  good  cavity  high  up  or  low  down.  A 
swarm  of  mine  ran  away  from  the  new  patent  hive 
I  gave  them,  and  took  up  their  quarters  in  the  hol- 
low trunk  of  an  old  apple-tree  across  an  adjoining 
field.  The  entrance  was  a  mouse-hole  near  the 
ground. 

Another  swarm  in  the  neighborhood  deserted 
their  keeper,  and  went  into  the  cornice  of  an  out- 
house that  stood  amid  evergreens  in  the  rear  of  a 
large  mansion.  But  there  is  no  accounting  for  the 
taste  of  bees,  as  Samson  found  when  he  discovered 
the  swarm  in  the  carcass,  or  more  probably  the  skele- 
ton, of  the  lion  he  had  slain. 

In  any  given  locality,  especially  in  the  more 
wooded  and  mountainous  districts,  the  number  of 
swarms  that  thus  assert  their  independence  forms 
quite  a  large  per  cent.  In  the  Northern  States 
these  swarms  very  often  perish  before  spring;  but 
in  such  a  country  as  Florida  they  seem  to  multiply, 
till  bee-trees  are  very  common.  In  the  West,  also, 
wild  honey  is  often  gathered  in  large  quantities.  I 


20  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

noticed,  not  long  since,  that  some  wood-choppers  on 
the  west  slope  of  the  Coast  Range  felled  a  tree  that 
had  several  pailfuls  in  it. 

One  night  on  the  Potomac  a  party  of  us  unwit- 
tingly made  our  camp  near  the  foot  of  a  bee-tree, 
which  next  day  the  winds  of  heaven  blew  down,  for 
our  special  delectation,  at  least  so  we  read  the  sign. 
Another  time,  while  sitting  by  a  waterfall  in  the 
leafless  April  woods,  I  discovered  a  swarm  in  the  top 
of  a  large  hickory.  I  had  the  season  before  remarked 
the  tree  as  a  likely  place  for  bees,  but  the  screen 
of  leaves  concealed  them  from  me.  This  time  my 
former  presentiment  occurred  to  me,  and,  looking 
sharply,  sure  enough  there  were  the  bees,  going  out 
and  in  a  large,  irregular  opening.  In  June  a  vio- 
lent tempest  of  wind  and  rain  demolished  the  tree, 
and  the  honey  was  all  lost  in  the  creek  into  which 
it*  fell.  I  happened  along  that  way  two  or  three 
days  after  the  tornado,  when  I  saw  a  remnant  of  the 
swarm,  those,  doubtless,  that  escaped  the  flood  and 
those  that  were  away  when  the  disaster  came,  hang- 
ing in  a  small  black  mass  to  a  branch  high  up  near 
where  their  home  used  to  be.  They  looked  forlorn 
enough.  If  the  queen  was  saved,  the  remnant  prob- 
ably sought  another  tree;  otherwise  the  bees  soon 
died. 

I  have  seen  bees  desert  their  hive  in  the  spring 
when  it  Avas  infested  with  worms,  or  when  the  honey 
was  exhausted;  at  such  times  the  swarm  seems  to 
wander  aimlessly,  alighting  here  and  there,  and  per- 
haps in  the  end  uniting  with  some  other  colony.  In 


THE   PASTORAL  BEES  21 

case  of  such  union,  it  would  be  curious  to  know  if 
negotiations  were  first  opened  between  the  parties, 
and  if  the  houseless  bees  are  admitted  at  once  to  all 
the  rights  and  franchises  of  their  benefactors.  It 
would  be  very  like  the  bees  to  have  some  preliminary 
plan  and  understanding  about  the  matter  on  both 
sides. 

Bees  will  accommodate  themselves  to  almost  any 
quarters,  yet  no  hive  seems  to  please  them  so  well 
as  a  section  of  a  hollow  tree,  —  "  gums, "  as  they 
are  called  in  the  South  and  West  where  the  sweet 
gum  grows.  In  some  European  countries  the  hive 
is  always  made  from  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  a  suitable 
cavity  being  formed  by  boring.  The  old-fashioned 
straw  hive  is  picturesque,  and  a  great  favorite  with 
the  bees  also. 

The  life  of  a  swarm  of  bees  is  like  an  active  and 
hazardous  campaign  of  an  army;  the  ranks  are  beiftg 
continually  depleted,  and  continually  recruited. 
What  adventures  they  have  by  flood  and  field,  and 
what  hair- breadth  escapes!  A  strong  swarm  during 
the  honey  season  loses,  on  an  average,  about  four  or 
five  thousand  per  month,  or  one  hundred  and  fifty 
per  day.  They  are  overwhelmed  by  wind  and  rain, 
caught  by  spiders,  benumbed  by  cold,  crushed  by 
cattle,  drowned  in  rivers  and  ponds,  and  in  many 
nameless  ways  cut  off  or  disabled.  In  the  spring 
the  principal  mortality  is  from  the  cold.  As  the  sun 
declines  they  get  chilled  before  they  can  reach  home. 
Many  fall  down  outside  the  hive,  unable  to  get  in 
with  their  burden.  One  may  see  them  come  utterly 


22  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

spent  and  drop  hopelessly  into  the  grass  in  front  of 
their  very  doors.  Before  they  can  rest  the  cold  has 
stiffened  them.  I  go  out  in  April  and  May  and  pick 
them  lip  by  the  handfuls,  their  baskets  loaded  with 
pollen,  and  warm  them  in  the  sun  or  in  the  house, 
or  by  the  simple  warmth  of  my  hand,  until  they  can 
crawl  into  the  hive.  Heat  is  their  life,  and  an  ap- 
parently lifeless  bee  may  be  revived  by  warming  him. 
I  have  also  picked  them  up  while  rowing  on  the 
river  and  seen  them  safely  to  shore.  It  is  amusing 
to  see  them  come  hurrying  home  when  there  is  a 
thunder-storm  approaching.  They  come  piling  in 
till  the  rain  is  upon  them.  Those  that  are  overtaken 
by  the  storm  doubtless  weather  it  as  best  they  can  in 
the  sheltering  trees  or  grass.  It  is  not  probable  that 
a  bee  ever  gets  lost  by  wandering  into  strange  and 
unknown  parts.  With  their  myriad  eyes  they  see 
everything;  and  then  their  sense  of  locality  is  very 
acute,  is,  indeed,  one  of  their  ruling  traits.  When 
a  bee  marks  the  place  of  his  hive,  or  of  a  bit  of  good 
pasturage  in  the  fields  or  swamps,  or  of  the  bee- 
hunter's  box  of  honey  on  the  hills  or  in  the  woods, 
he  returns  to  it  as  unerringly  as  fate. 

Honey  was  a  much  more  important  article  of  food 
with  the  ancients  than  it  is  with  us.  As  they  ap- 
pear to  have  been  unacquainted  with  sugar,  honey, 
no  doubt,  stood  them  instead.  It  is  too  rank  and 
pungent  for  the  modern  taste;  it  soon  cloys  upon 
the  palate.  It  demands  the  appetite  of  youth,  and 
the  strong,  robust  digestion  of  people  who  live  much 
in  the  open  air.  It  is  a  more  wholesome  food  than 


THE   PASTORAL   BEES  23 

sugar,  and  modem  confectionery  is  poison  beside  it. 
Beside  grape  sugar,  honey  contains  manna,  mucilage, 
pollen,  acid,  and  other  vegetable  odoriferous  sub- 
stances and  juices.  It  is  a  sugar  with  a  kind  of 
wild  natural  bread  added.  The  manna  of  itself  is 
both  food  and  medicine,  and  the  pungent  vegetable 
extracts  have  rare  virtues.  Honey  promotes  the 
excretions,  and  dissolves  the  glutinous  and  starchy 
impedimenta  of  the  system. 

Hence  it  is  not  without  reason  that  with  the  an- 
cients a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey  should 
mean  a  land  abounding  in  all  good  things;  and  the 
queen  in  the  nursery  rhyme,  who  lingered  in  the 
kitchen  to  eat  "bread  and  honey"  while  the  "king 
was  in  the  parlor  counting  out  his  money,"  was 
doing  a  very  sensible  thing.  Epaminondas  is  said 
to  have  rarely  eaten  anything  but  bread  and  honey. 
The  Emperor  Augustus  one  day  inquired  of  a  cen- 
tenarian how  he  had  kept  his  vigor  of  mind  and 
body  so  long;  to  which  the  veteran  replied  that  it 
was  by  "oil  without  and  honey  within."  Cicero,  in 
his  "Old  Age,"  classes  honey  with  meat  and  milk 
and  cheese  as  among  the  staple  articles  with  which 
a  well-kept  farmhouse  will  be  supplied. 

Italy  and  Greece,  in  fact  all  the  Mediterranean 
countries,  appear  to  have  been  famous  lands  for 
honey.  Mount  Hymettus,  Mount  Hybla,  and  Mount 
Ida  produced  what  may  be  called  the  classic  honey  of 
antiquity,  an  article  doubtless  in  no  wise  superior  to 
our  best  products.  Leigh  Hunt's  "Jar  of  Honey  "  is 
mainly  distilled  from  Sicilian  history  and  literature, 


24  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

Theocritus  furnishing  the  best  yield.  Sicily  has  al- 
ways been  rich  in  bees.  Swinburne  (the  traveler  of 
a  hundred  years  ago)  says  the  woods  on  this  island 
abounded  in  wild  honey,  and  that  the  people  also  had 
many  hives  near  their  houses.  The  idyls  of  Theo- 
critus are  native  to  the  island  in  this  respect,  and 
abound  in  bees  —  "  flat-nosed  bees,"  as  he  calls  them 
in  the  Seventh  Idyl  —  and  comparisons  in  which 
comb-honey  is  the  standard  of  the  most  delectable  of 
this  world's  goods.  His  goatherds  can  think  of  no 
greater  bliss  than  that  the  mouth  be  filled  with  honey- 
combs, or  to  be  inclosed  in  a  chest  like  Daphnis  and 
fed  on  the  combs  of  bees ;  and  among  the  delectables 
with  which  Arsinoe  cherishes  Adonis  are  "honey- 
cakes,"  and  other  tidbits  made  of  "sweet  honey." 
In  the  country  of  Theocritus  this  custom  is  said  still 
to  prevail :  when  a  couple  are  married,  the  attendants 
place  honey  in  their  mouths,  by  which  they  would 
symbolize  the  hope  that  their  love  may  be  as  sweet  to 
their  souls  as  honey  to  the  palate. 

It  was  fabled  that  Homer  was  suckled  by  a  priest- 
ess whose  breasts  distilled  honey ;  and  that  once,  when 
Pindar  lay  asleep,  the  bees  dropped  honey  upon  his 
lips.  In  the  Old  Testament  the  food  of  the  promised 
Immanuel  was  to  be  butter  and  honey  (there  is  much 
doubt  about  the  butter  in  the  original),  that  he  might 
know  good  from  evil;  and  Jonathan's  eyes  were  en- 
lightened by  partaking  of  some  wood  or  wild  honey : 
"  See,  I  pray  you,  how  mine  eyes  have  been  enlight- 
ened, because  I  tasted  a  little  of  this  honey."  So 
far  as  this  part  of  his  diet  was  concerned,  therefore, 


THE   PASTORAL  BEES  25 

John  the  Baptist,  during  his  sojourn  in  the  wilder- 
ness, his  divinity-school  days  in  the  mountains  and 
plains  of  Judea,  fared  extremely  well.  About  the 
other  part,  the  locusts,  or,  not  to  put  too  fine  a 
point  on  it,  the  grasshoppers,  as  much  cannot  be 
said,  though  they  were  among  the  creeping  and  leap- 
ing things  the  children  of  Israel  were  permitted  to 
eat.  They  were  probably  not  eaten  raw,  but  roasted 
in  that  most  primitive  of  ovens,  a  hole  in  the  ground 
made  hot  by  building  a  fire  in  it.  The  locusts  and 
honey  may  have  been  served  together,  as  the  Bedas 
of  Ceylon  are  said  to  season  their  meat  with  honey. 
At  any  rate,  as  the  locust  is  often  a  great  plague  in 
Palestine,  the  prophet  in  eating  them  found  his 
account  in  the  general  weal,  and  in  the  profit  of  the 
pastoral  bees;  the  fewer  locusts,  the  more  flowers. 
Owing  to  its  numerous  wild-flowers  and  flowering 
shrubs,  Palestine  has  always  been  a  famous  country 
for  bees.  They  deposit  their  honey  in  hollow  trees, 
as  our  bees  do  when  they  escape  from  the  hive,  and 
in  holes  in  the  rocks,  as  ours  do  not.  In  a  tropical 
or  semitropical  climate,  bees  are  quite  apt  to  take 
refuge  in  the  rocks ;  but  where  ice  and  snow  prevail, 
as  with  us,  they  are  much  safer  high  up  in  the  trunk 
of  a  forest  tree. 

The  best  honey  is  the  product  of  the  milder  parts 
of  the  temperate  zone.  There  are  too  many  rank 
and  poisonous  plants  in  the  tropics.  Honey  from 
certain  districts  of  Turkey  produces  headache  and 
vomiting,  and  that  from  Brazil  is  used  chiefly  as 
medicine.  The  honey  of  Mount  Hymettus  owes  its 


26  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

fine  quality  to  wild  thyme.  The  best  honey  in  Per- 
sia and  in  Florida  is  collected  from  the  orange  blos- 
som. The  celebrated  honey  of  Xarbonne  in  the 
south  of  France  is  obtained  from  a  species  of  rose- 
mary. In  Scotland  good  honey  is  made  from  the 
blossoming  heather. 

California  honey  is  white  and  delicate  and  highly 
perfumed,  and  now  takes  the  lead  in  the  market. 
But  honey  is  honey  the  world  over;  and  the  bee 
is  the  bee  still.  "Men  may  degenerate,"  says  an 
old  traveler,  "may  forget  the  arts  by  which  they 
acquired  renown;  manufactures  may  fail,  and  com- 
modities be  debased;  but  the  sweets  of  the  wild- 
flowers  of  the  wilderness,  the  industry  and  natural 
mechanics  of  the  bee,  will  continue  without  change 
or  derogation," 


SHARP  EYES 

"l^TOTING  how  one  eye  seconds  and  reinforces  the 
•*- *  other,  I  have  often  amused  myself  by  wonder- 
ing what  the  effect  would  be  if  one  could  go  on  open- 
ing eye  after  eye  to  the  number  say  of  a  dozen  or 
more.  What  would  he  see  ?  Perhaps  not  the  in- 
visible, —  not  the  odors  of  flowers  or  the  fever  germs 
in  the  air,  —  not  the  infinitely  small  of  the  microscope 
or  the  infinitely  distant  of  the  telescope.  This  would 
require,  not  more  eyes  so  much  as  an  eye  constructed 
with  more  and  different  lenses;  but  would  he  not 
see  with  augmented  power  within  the  natural  limits 
of  vision?  At  any  rate,  some  persons  seem  to  have 
opened  more  eyes  than  others,  they  see  with  such 
force  and  distinctness;  their  vision  penetrates  the 
tangle  and  obscurity  where  that  of  others  fails  like 
a  spent  or  impotent  bullet.  How  many  eyes  did 
Gilbert  White  open?  how  many  did  Henry  Tho- 
reau  ?  how  many  did  Audubon  ?  how  many  does  the 
hunter,  matching  his  sight  against  the  keen  and 
alert  sense  of  a  deer  or  a  moose,  or  fox  or  a  wolf  ? 
Not  outward  eyes,  but  inward.  We  open  another 
eye  whenever  we  see  beyond  the  first  general  fea- 
tures or  outlines  of  things,  —  whenever  we  grasp 


28  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

the  special  details  and  characteristic  markings  that 
this  mask  covers.  Science  confers  new  powers  of 
vision.  Whenever  you  have  learned  to  discriminate 
the  birds,  or  the  plants,  or  the  geological  features  of  a 
country,  it  is  as  if  new  and  keener  eyes  were  added. 

Of  course  one  must  not  only  see  sharply,  but  read 
aright  what  he  sees.  The  facts  in  the  life  of  Nature 
that  are  transpiring  about  us  are  like  written  words 
that  the  observer  is  to  arrange  into  sentences.  Or 
the  writing  is  in  cipher  and  he  must  furnish  the  key. 
A  female  oriole  was  one  day  observed  very  much  pre- 
occupied under  a  shed  where  the  refuse  from  the 
horse  stable  was  thrown.  She  hopped  about  among 
the  barn  fowls,  scolding  them  sharply  when  they 
came  too  near  her.  The  stable,  dark  and  cavernous, 
was  just  beyond.  The  bird,  not  finding  what  she 
wanted  outside,  boldly  ventured  into  the  stable,  and 
was  presently  captured  by  the  farmer.  What  did  she 
want?  was  the  query.  What  but  a  horsehair  for 
her  nest  which  was  in  an  apple-tree  near  by  ?  and 
she  was  so  bent  on  having  one  that  I  have  no  doubt 
she  would  have  tweaked  one  out  of  the  horse's  tail 
had  he  been  in  the  stable.  Later  in  the  season  I 
examined  her  nest,  and  found  it  sewed  through  and 
through  with  several  long  horsehairs,  so  that  the  bird 
persisted  in  her  search  till  the  hair  was  found. 

Little  dramas  and  tragedies  and  comedies,  little 
characteristic  scenes,  are  always  being  enacted  in  the 
lives  of  the  birds,  if  our  eyes  are  sharp  enough  to 
see  them.  Some  clever  observer  saw  this  little  com- 
edy played  among  some  English  sparrows,  and  wrote 


SHARP  EYES  29 

an  account  of  it  in  his  newspaper;  it  is  too  good 
not  to  be  true:  A  male  bird  brought  to  his  box  a 
large,  fine  goose  feather,  which  is  a  great  find  for  a 
sparrow  and  much  coveted.  After  he  had  deposited 
his  prize  and  chattered  his  gratulations  over  it,  he 
went  away  in  quest  of  his  mate.  His  next-door 
neighbor,  a  female  bird,  seeing  her  chance,  quickly 
slipped  in  and  seized  the  feather;  and  here  the  wit 
of  the  bird  came  out,  for  instead  of  carrying  it  into 
her  own  box  she  flew  with  it  to  a  near  tree  and  hid 
it  in  a  fork  of  the  branches,  then  went  home,  and 
when  her  neighbor  returned  with  his  mate  was  inno- 
cently employed  about  her  own  affairs.  The  proud 
male,  finding  his  feather  gone,  came  out  of  his  box 
in  a  high  state  of  excitement,  and,  with  wrath  in 
his  manner  and  accusation  on  his  tongue,  rushed  into 
the  cote  of  the  female.  Not  finding  his  goods  and 
chattels  there  as  he  had  expected,  he  stormed  around 
a  while,  abusing  everybody  in  general  and  his  neigh- 
bor in  particular,  and  then  went  away  as  if  to  repair 
the  loss.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  the  shrewd 
thief  went  and  brought  the  feather  home  and  lined 
her  own  domicile  with  it. 

I  was  much  amused  one  summer  day  in  seeing  a 
bluebird  feeding  her  young  one  in  the  shaded  street 
of  a  large  town.  She  had  captured  a  cicada  or  har- 
vest-fly, and,  after  bruising  it  a  while  on  the  ground, 
flew  with  it  to  a  tree  and  placed  it  in  the  beak  of 
the  young  bird.  It  was  a  large  morsel,  and  the 
mother  seemed  to  have  doubts  of  her  chick's  ability 
to  dispose  of  it,  for  she  stood  near  and  watched  its 


80  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

efforts  with  great  solicitude.  The  young  bird  strug- 
gled valiantly  with  the  cicada,  hut  made  no  headway 
in  swallowing  it,  when  the  mother  took  it  from  him 
and  flew  to  the  sidewalk,  and  proceeded  to  break  and 
bruise  it  more  thoroughly.  Then  she  again  placed 
it  in  his  beak,  and  seemed  to  say,  "There,  try  it 
now,"  and  sympathized  so  thoroughly  with  his  ef- 
forts that  she  repeated  many  of  his  motions  and  con- 
tortions. But  the  great  fly  was  unyielding,  and,  in- 
deed, seemed  ridiculously  disproportioned  to  the  beak 
that  held  it.  The  young  bird  fluttered  and  fluttered, 
and  screamed,  "I'm  stuck,  I'm  stuck!  "till  the 
anxious  parent  again  seized  the  morsel  and  carried  it 
to  an  iron  railing,  where  she  came  down  upon  it  for 
the  space  of  a  minute  with  all  the  force  and  momen- 
tum her  beak  could  command.  Then  she  offered  it 
to  her  young  a  third  time,  but  with  the  same  result 
as  before,  except  that  this  time  the  bird  dropped  it; 
but  she  reached  the  ground  as  soon  as  the  cicada  did, 
and  taking  it  in  her  beak  flew  some  distance  to  a 
high  board  fence,  where  she  sat  motionless  for  some 
moments.  While  pondering  the  problem  how  that 
fly  should  be  broken,  the  male  bluebird  approached 
her,  and  said  very  plainly,  and  I  thought  rather 
curtly,  "  Give  me  that  bug, "  but  she  quickly  resented 
his  interference  and  flew  farther  away,  where  she  sat 
apparently  quite  discouraged  when  I  last  saw  her. 

The  bluebird  is  a  home  bird,  and  I  am  never  tired 
of  recurring  to  him.  His  coming  or  reappearance  in 
the  spring  marks  a  new  chapter  in  the  progress  of 
the  season ;  things  are  never  quite  the  same  after  one 


SHARP  EYES  31 

has  heard  that  note.  The  past  spring  the  males  came 
about  a  week  in  advance 'of  the  females.  A  fine 
male  lingered  about  my  grounds  and  orchard  all  that 
time,  apparently  waiting  the  arrival  of  his  mate.  He 
called  and  warbled  every  day,  as  if  he  felt  sure  she 
was  within  ear-shot  and  could  be  hurried  up.  Now 
he  warbled  half-angrily  or  upbraidingly,  then  coax- 
ingly,  then  cheerily  and  confidently,  the  next  mo- 
ment in  a  plaintive,  far-away  manner.  He  would 
half  open  his  wings,  and  twinkle  them  caressingly, 
as  if  beckoning  his  mate  to  his  heart.  One  morning 
she  had  come,  but  was  shy  and  reserved.  The  fond 
male  flew  to  a  knothole  in  an  old  apple-tree,  and 
coaxed  her  to  his  side.  I  heard  a  fine  confidential 
warble,  —  the  old,  old  story.  But  the  female  flew 
to  a  near  tree,  and  uttered  her  plaintive,  homesick 
note.  The  male  went  and  got  some  dry  grass  or 
bark  in  his  beak,  and  flew  again  to  the  hole  in  the 
old  tree,  and  promised  unremitting  devotion,  but  the 
other  said,  "Nay,"  and  flew  away  in  the  distance. 
When  he  saw  her  going,  or  rather  heard  her  distant 
note,  he  dropped  his  stuff,  and  cried  out  in  a  tone 
that  said  plainly  enough,  "Wait  a  minute.  One 
word,  please,"  and  flew  swiftly  in  pursuit.  He  won 
her  before  long,  however,  and  early  in  April  the 
pair  were  established  in  one  of  the  four  or  five  boxes 
I  had  put  up  for  them,  but  not  until  they  had 
changed  their  minds  several  times.  As  soon  as  the 
first  brood  had  flown,  and  while  they  were  yet  under 
their  parents'  care,  they  began  another  nest  in  one 
of  the  other  boxes,  the  female,  as  usual,  doing  all 


32  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

the  work,  and  the  male  all  the  complimenting.  A 
source  of  occasional  great  distress  to  the  mother  bird 
was  a  white  cat  that  sometimes  followed  me  about. 
The  cat  had  never  been  known  to  catch  a  bird,  but 
she  had  a  way  of  watching  them  that  was  very  em- 
barrassing to  the  bird.  Whenever  she  appeared,  the 
mother  bluebird  would  set  up  that  pitiful  melodious 
plaint.  One  morning  the  cat  was  standing  by  me, 
when  the  bird  came  with  her  beak  loaded  with  build- 
ing material,  and  alighted  above  me  to  survey  the 
place  before  going  into  the  box.  When  she  saw  the 
cat  she  was  greatly  disturbed,  and  in  her  agitation 
could  not  keep  her  hold  upon  all  her  material.  Straw 
after  straw  came  eddying  down,  till  not  half  her 
original  burden  remained.  After  the  cat  had  gone 
away  the  bird's  alarm  subsided,  till  presently,  see- 
ing the  coast  clear,  she  flew  quickly  to  the  box  and 
pitched  in  her  remaining  straws  with  the  greatest 
precipitation,  and,  without  going  in  to  arrange  them, 
as  was  her  wont,  flew  away  in  evident  relief. 

In  the  cavity  of  an  apple-tree  but  a  few  yards  off, 
and  much  nearer  the  house  than  they  usually  build, 
a  pair  of  high-holes,  or  golden-shafted  woodpeckers, 
took  up  their  abode.  A  knothole  which  led  to  the 
decayed  interior  was  enlarged,  the  live  wood  being 
cut  away  as  clean  as  a  squirrel  would  have  done  it. 
The  inside  preparations  I  could  not  witness,  but  day 
after  day,  as  I  passed  near,  I  heard  the  bird  hammer- 
ing away,  evidently  beating  down  obstructions  and 
shaping  and  enlarging  the  cavity.  The  chips  were 
not  brought  out,  but  were  used  rather  to  floor  the 


SHARP  EYES  33 

interior.     The  woodpeckers  are  not  nest- builders,  but 
rather  nest-carvers. 

The  time  seemed  very  short  before  the  voices  of 
the  young  were  heard  in  the  heart  of  the  old  tree, 
—  at  first  feebly,  but  waxing  stronger  day  by  day 
until  they  could  be  heard  many  rods  distant.  When 
I  put  my  hand  upon  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  they 
would  set  up  an  eager,  expectant  chattering;  but  if 
I  climbed  up  it  toward  the  opening,  they  soon  de- 
tected the  unusual  sound  and  would  hush  quickly, 
only  now  and  then  uttering  a  warning  note.  Long 
before  they  were  fully  fledged  they  clambered  up  to 
the  orifice  to  receive  their  food.  As  but  one  could 
stand  in  the  opening  at  a  time,  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  elbowing  and  struggling  for  this  position.  It  was 
a  very  desirable  one  aside  from  the  advantages  it  had 
when  food  was  served ;  it  looked  out  upon  the  great, 
shining  world,  into  which  the  young  birds  seemed 
never  tired  of  gazing.  The  fresh  air  must  have  been 
a  consideration  also,  for  the  interior  of  a  high-hole's 
dwelling  is  not  sweet.  When  the  parent  birds  came 
with  food,  the  young  one  in  the  opening  did  not  get 
it  all,  but  after  he  had  received  a  portion,  either  on 
his  own  motion  or  on  a  hint  from  the  old  one,  he 
would  give  place  to  the  one  behind  him.  Still,  one 
bird  evidently  outstripped  his  fellows,  and  in  the 
race  of  life  was  two  or  three  days  in  advance  of  them. 
His  voice  was  loudest  and  his  head  oftenest  at  the 
window.  But  I  noticed  that,  when  he  had  kept  the 
position  too  long,  the  others  evidently  made  it  un- 
comfortable in  his  rear,  and,  after  "fidgeting"  about 


84  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

a  while,  he  would  be  compelled  to  "back  down." 
But  retaliation  was  then  easy,  and  I  fear  his  mates 
spent  few  easy  moments  at  that  lookout.  They 
would  close  their  eyes  and  slide  back  into  the  cavity 
as  if  the  world  had  suddenly  lost  all  its  charms  for 
them. 

This  bird  was,  of  course,  the  first  to  leave  the 
nest.  For  two  days  before  that  event  he  kept  his 
position  in  the  opening  most  of  the  time  and  sent 
forth  his  strong  voice  incessantly.  The  old  ones 
abstained  from  feeding  him  almost  entirely,  no  doubt 
to  encourage  his  exit.  As  I  stood  looking  at  him 
one  afternoon  and  noting  his  progress,  he  suddenly 
reached  a  resolution,  —  seconded,  I  have  no  doubt, 
from  the  rear,  —  and  launched  forth  upon  his  untried 
wings.  They  served  him  well,  and  carried  him  about 
fifty  yards  up-hill  the  first  heat.  The  second  day 
after,  the  next  in  size  and  spirit  left  in  the  same 
manner ;  then  another,  till  only  one  remained.  The 
parent  birds  ceased  their  visits  to  him,  and  for  one 
day  he  called  and  called  till  our  ears  were  tired  of 
the  sound.  His  was  the  faintest  heart  of  all.  Then 
he  had  none  to  encourage  him  from  behind.  He 
left  the  nest  and  clung  to  the  outer  bole  of  the  tree, 
and  yelped  and  piped  for  an  hour  longer;  then  he 
committed  himself  to  his  wings  and  went  his  way 
like  the  rest. 

A  young  farmer  in  the  western  part  of  New  York, 
who  has  a  sharp,  discriminating  eye,  sends  me  some 
interesting  notes  about  a  tame  high-hole  he  once  had. 

"Did  you  ever  notice,"  says  he,  "that  the  high- 


SHARP   EYES  35 

hole  never  eats  anything  that  he  cannot  pick  up  with 
his  tongue  ?  At  least  this  was  the  case  with  a  young 
one  I  took  from  the  nest  and  tamed.  He  could 
thrust  out  his  tongue  two  or  three  inches,  and  it 
was  amusing  to  see  his  efforts  to  eat  currants  from 
the  hand.  He  would  run  out  his  tongue  and  try  to 
stick  it  to  the  currant;  failing  in  that,  he  would 
bend  his  tongue  around  it  like  a  hook  and  try  to 
raise  it  by  a  sudden  jerk.  But  he  never  succeeded, 
the  round  fruit  would  roll  and  slip  away  every  time. 
He  never  seemed  to  think  of  taking  it  in  his  beak. 
His  tongue  was  in  constant  use  to  find  out  the  na- 
ture of  everything  he  saw ;  a  nail-hole  in  a  board  or 
any  similar  hole  was  carefully  explored.  If  he  was 
held  near  the  face  he  would  soon  be  attracted  by  the 
eye  and  thrust  his  tongue  into  it.  In  this  way  he 
gained  the  respect  of  a  number  of  half-grown  cats 
that  were  around  the  house.  I  wished  to  make  them 
familiar  to  each  other,  so  there  would  be  less  danger 
of  their  killing  him.  So  I  would  take  them  both 
on  my  knee,  when  the  bird  would  soon  notice  the 
kitten's  eyes,  and,  leveling  his  bill  as  carefully  as 
a  marksman  levels  his  rifle,  he  would  remain  so  a 
minute,  when  he  would  dart  his  tongue  into  the  cat's 
eye.  This  was  held  by  the  cats  to  be  very  mysteri- 
ous: being  struck  in  the  eye  by  something  invisible 
to  them.  They  soon  acquired  such  a  terror  of  him 
that  they  would  avoid  him  and  run  away  whenever 
they  saw  his  bill  turned  in  their  direction.  He 
never  would  swallow  a  grasshopper  even  when  it  was 
placed  in  his  throat;  he  would  shake  himself  until 


36        LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

he  had  thrown  it  out  of  his  mouth.  His  '  best  hold  ' 
was  ants.  He  never  was  surprised  at  anything,  and 
never  was  afraid  of  anything.  He  would  drive  the 
turkey  gobbler  and  the  rooster.  He  would  advance 
upon  them  holding  one  wing  up  as  high  as  possible, 
as  if  to  strike  with  it,  and  shuffle  along  the  ground 
toward  them,  scolding  all  the  while  in  a  harsh  voice. 
I  feared  at  first  that  they  might  kill  him,  but  I  soon 
found  that  he  was  able  to  take  care  of  himself.  I 
would  turn  over  stones  and  dig  into  ant-hills  for  him, 
and  he  would  lick  up  the  ants  so  fast  that  a  stream 
of  them  seemed  going  into  his  mouth  unceasingly. 
I  kept  him  till  late  in  the  fall,  when  he  disappeared, 
probably  going  south,  and  I  never  saw  him  again." 

My  correspondent  also  sends  me  some  interesting 
observations  about  the  cuckoo.  He  says  a  large 
gooseberry-bush  standing  in  the  border  of  an  old 
hedge-row,  in  the  midst  of  open  fields,  and  not  far 
from  his  house,  was  occupied  by  a  pair  of  cuckoos 
for  two  seasons  in  succession,  and,  after  an  interval 
of  a  year,  for  two  seasons  more.  This  gave  him  a 
good  chance  to  observe  them.  He  says  the  mother 
bird  lays  a  single  egg,  and  sits  upon  it  a  number  of 
days  before  laying  the  second,  so  that  he  has  seen 
one  young  bird  nearly  grown,  a  second  just  hatched, 
and  a  whole  egg  all  in  the  nest  at  once.  "  So  far 
as  I  have  seen,  this  is  the  settled  practice,  —  the 
young  leaving  the  nest  one  at  a  time  to  the  number 
of  six  or  eight.  The  young  have  quite  the  look  of 
the  young  of  the  dove  in  many  respects.  When 
nearly  grown  they  are  covered  with  long  blue  pin- 


SHARP  EYES  37 

feathers  as  long  as  darning-needles,  withcmt  a  bit  of 
plumage  on  them.  They  part  on  the  back  and  hang 
down  on  each  side  by  their  own  weight.  With  its 
curious  feathers  and  misshapen  body,  the  young  bird 
is  anything  but  handsome.  They  never  open  their 
mouths  when  approached,  as  many  young  birds  do, 
but  sit  perfectly  still,  hardly  moving  when  touched. " 
He  also  notes  the  unnatural  indifference  of  the  mo- 
ther bird  when  her  nest  and  young  are  approached. 
She  makes  no  sound,  but  sits  quietly  on  a  near 
branch  in  apparent  perfect  unconcern. 

These  observations,  together  with  the  fact  that  the 
egg  of  the  cuckoo  is  occasionally  found  in  the  nests 
of  other  birds,  raise  the  inquiry  whether  our  bird  is 
slowly  relapsing  into  the  habit  of  the  European  spe- 
cies, which  always  foists  its  egg  upon  other  birds; 
or  whether,  on  the  other  hand,  it  be  not  mending  its 
manners  in  this  respect.  It  has  but  little  to  unlearn 
or  forget  in  the  one  case,  but  great  progress  to  make 
in  the  other.  How  far  is  its  rudimentary  nest  —  a 
mere  platform  of  coarse  twigs  and  dry  stalks  of 
weeds  —  from  the  deep,  compact,  finely  woven  and 
finely  modeled  nest  of  the  goldfinch  or  the  kingbird, 
and  what  a  gulf  between  its  indifference  toward  its 
young  and  their  solicitude !  Its  irregular  manner  of 
laying  also  seems  better  suited  to  a  parasite  like  our 
cowbird,  or  the  European  cuckoo,  than  to  a  regular 
nest-builder. 

This  observer,  like  most  sharp-eyed  persons,  sees 
plenty  of  interesting  things  as  he  goes  about  his 
work.  He  one  day  saw  a  white  swallow,  which  is 


38  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

of  rare  occurrence.  He  saw  a  bird,  a  sparrow  he 
thinks,  fly  against  the  side  of  a  horse  and  fill  his  beak 
with  hair  from  the  loosened  coat  of  the  animal.  He 
saw  a  shrike  pursue  a  chickadee,  when  the  latter 
escaped  by  taking  refuge  in  a  small  hole  in  a  tree. 
One  day  in  early  spring  he  saw  two  hen-hawks,  that 
were  circling  and  screaming  high  in  air,  approach  each 
other,  extend  a  claw,  and,  clasping  them  together, 
fall  toward  the  earth,  flapping  and  struggling  as  if 
they  were  tied  together;  on  nearing  the  ground  they 
separated  and  soared  aloft  again.  He  supposed  that 
it  was  not  a  passage  of  war  but  of  love,  and  that  the 
hawks  were  toying  fondly  with  each  other. 

He  further  relates  a  curious  circumstance  of  find- 
ing a  hummingbird  in  the  upper  part  of  a  barn  with 
its  bill  stuck  fast  in  a  crack  of  one  of  the  large  tim- 
bers, dead,  of  course,  with  wings  extended,  and  as 
dry  as  a  chip.  The  bird  seems  to  have  died,  as  it 
had  lived,  on  the  wing,  and  its  last  act  was  indeed 
a  ghastly  parody  of  its  living  career.  Fancy  this 
nimble,  flashing  sprite,  whose  life  was  passed  prob- 
ing the  honeyed  depths  of  flowers,  at  last  thrusting 
its  bill  into  a  crack  in  a  dry  timber  in  a  hay-loft, 
and,  with  spread  wings,  ending  its  existence ! 

When  the  air  is  damp  and  heavy,  swallows  fre- 
quently hawk  for  insects  about  cattle  and  moving 
herds  in  the  field.  My  farmer  describes  how  they 
attended  him  one  foggy  day,  as  he  was  mowing  in 
the  meadow  with  a  mowing-machine.  It  had  been 
foggy  for  two  days,  and  the  swallows  were  very  hun- 
gry, and  the  insects  stupid  and  inert.  When  the 


SHAEP  EYES  39 

sound  of  his  machine  was  heard,  the  swallows  ap- 
peared and  attended  him  like  a  brood  of  hungry 
chickens.  He  says  there  was  a  continued  rush  of 
purple  wings  over  the  "cut- bar,"  and  just  where  it 
was  causing  the  grass  to  tremble  and  fall.  Without 
his  assistance  the  swallows  would  doubtless  have 
gone  hungry  yet  another  day. 

Of  the  hen-hawk,  he  has  observed  that  both  male 
and  female  take  part  in  incubation.  "I  was  rather 
surprised,"  he  says,  "on  one  occasion,  to  see  how 
quickly  they  change  places  on  the  nest.  The  nest 
was  in  a  tall  beech,  and  the  leaves  were  not  yet  fully 
out.  I  could  see  the  head  and  neck  of  the  hawk 
over  the  edge  of  the  nest,  when  I  saw  the  other  hawk 
coming  down  through  the  air  at  full  speed.  I  ex- 
pected he  would  alight  near  by,  but  instead  of  that 
he  struck  directly  upon  the  nest,  his  mate  getting 
out  of  the  way  barely  in  time  to  avoid  being  hit;  it 
seemed  almost  as  if  he  had  knocked  her  off  the  nest. 
I  hardly  see  how  they  can  make  such  a  rush  on  the 
nest  without  danger  to  the  eggs." 

The  kingbird  will  worry  the  hawk  as  a  whiffet 
dog  will  worry  a  bear.  It  is  by  his  persistence  and 
audacity,  not  by  any  injury  he  is  capable  of  dealing 
his  great  antagonist.  The  kingbird  seldom  more 
than  dogs  the  hawk,  keeping  above  and  between 
his  wings,  and  making  a  great  ado;  but  my  corre- 
spondent says  he  once  "saw  a  kingbird  riding  on 
a  hawk's  back.  The  hawk  flew  as  fast  as  possible, 
and  the  kingbird  sat  upon  his  shoulders  in  triumph 
until  they  had  passed  out  of  sight,"  —  tweaking  his 


40  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

feathers,  no  doubt,  and  threatening  to  scalp  him  the 
next  moment. 

That  near  relative  of  the  kingbird,  the  great 
crested  flycatcher,  has  one  well-known  peculiarity: 
he  appears  never  to  consider  his  nest  finished  until 
it  contains  a  cast-off  snake-skin.  My  alert  corre- 
spondent one  day  saw  him  eagerly  catch  up  an  onion 
skin  and  make  off  with  it,  either  deceived  by  it  or 
else  thinking  it  a  good  substitute  for  the  coveted 
material. 

One  day  in  May,  walking  in  the  woods,  I  came 
upon  the  nest  of  a  whip-poor-will,  or  rather  its  eggs, 
for  it  builds  no  nest,  —  two  elliptical  whitish  spotted 
eggs  lying  upon  the  dry  leaves.  My  foot  was  within 
a  yard  of  the  mother  bird  before  she  flew.  I  won- 
dered what  a  sharp  eye  would  detect  curious  or  char- 
acteristic in  the  ways  of  the  bird,  so  I  came  to  the 
place  many  times  and  had  a  look.  It  was  always  a 
task  to  separate  the  bird  from  her  surroundings, 
though  I  stood  within  a  few  feet  of  her,  and  knew 
exactly  where  to  look.  One  had  to  bear  on  with  his 
eye,  as  it  were,  and  refuse  to  be  baffled.  The  sticks 
and  leaves,  and  bits  of  black  or  dark  brown  bark, 
were  all  exactly  copied  in  the  bird's  plumage.  And 
then  she  did  sit  so  close,  and  simulate  so  well  a 
shapeless,  decaying  piece  of  wood  or  bark !  Twice 
I  brought  a  companion,  and,  guiding  his  eye  to  the 
spot,  noted  how  difficult  it  was  for  him  to  make  out 
there,  in  full  view  upon  the  dry  leaves,  any  sem- 
blance to  a  bird.  When  the  bird  returned  after  being 
disturbed,  she  would  alight  within  a  few  inches  of 


SHARP  EYES  41 

her  eggs,  and  then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  hobble 
awkwardly  upon  them. 

After  the  young  had  appeared,  all  the  wit  of  the 
bird  came  into  play.  I  was  on  hand  the  next  day,  I 
think.  The  mother  bird  sprang  up  when  I  was  within 
a  pace  of  her,  and  in  doing  so  fanned  the  leaves  with 
her  wings  till  they  sprang  up,  too;  as  the  leaves 
started  the  young  started,  and,  being  of  the  same 
color,  to  tell  which  was  the  leaf  and  which  the  bird 
was  a  trying  task  to  any  eye.  I  came  the  next 
day,  when  the  same  tactics  were  repeated.  Once  a 
leaf  fell  upon  one  of  the  young  birds  and  nearly  hid 
it.  The  young  are  covered  with  a  reddish  down, 
like  a  young  partridge,  and  soon  follow  their  mother 
about.  When  disturbed,  they  gave  but  one  leap, 
then  settled  down,  perfectly  motionless  and  stupid, 
with  eyes  closed.  The  parent  bird,  on  these  occa- 
sions, made  frantic  efforts  to  decoy  me  away  from 
her  young.  She  would  fly  a  few  paces  and  fall  upon 
her  breast,  and  a  spasm,  like  that  of  death,  would 
run  through  her  tremulous  outstretched  wings  and 
prostrate  body.  She  kept  a  sharp  eye  out  the  mean- 
while to  see  if  the  ruse  took,  and,  if  it  did  not,  she 
was  quickly  cured,  and,  moving  about  to  some  other 
point,  tried  to  draw  my  attention  as  before.  When 
followed  she  always  alighted  upon  the  ground,  drop- 
ping down  in  a  sudden  peculiar  way.  The  second 
or  third  day  both  old  and  young  had  disappeared. 

The  whip-poor-will  walks  as  awkwardly  as  a  swal- 
low, which  is  as  awkward  as  a  man  in  a  bag,  and 
yet  she  manages  to  lead  her  young  about  the  woods. 


42  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

The  latter,  I  think,  move  by  leaps  and  sudden  spurts, 
their  protective  coloring  shielding  them  most  effec- 
tively. Wilson  once  came  upon  the  mother  bird 
and  her  brood  in  the  woods,  and,  though  they  were 
at  his  very  feet,  was  so  baffled  by  the  concealment 
of  the  young  that  he  was  about  to  give  up  the  search, 
much  disappointed,  when  he  perceived  something 
"  like  a  slight  mouldiness  among  the  withered  leaves, 
and,  on  stooping  down,  discovered  it  to  be  a  young 
whip-poor-will,  seemingly  asleep."  Wilson's  de- 
scription of  the  young  is  very  accurate,  as  its  downy 
covering  does  look  precisely  like  a  "slight  mouldi- 
ness." Returning  a  few  moments  afterward  to  the 
spot  to  get  a  pencil  he  had  forgotten,  he  could  find 
neither  old  nor  young. 

It  takes  an  eye  to  see  a  partridge  in  the  woods, 
motionless  upon  the  leaves;  this  sense  needs  to  be 
as  sharp  as  that  of  smell  in  hounds  and  pointers,  and 
yet  I  know  an  unkempt  youth  that  seldom  fails  to 
see  the  bird  and  shoot  it  before  it  takes  wing.  I 
think  he  sees  it  as  soon  as  it  sees  him,  and  before 
it  suspects  itself  seen.  What  a  training  to  the  eye 
is  hunting!  to  pick  out  the  game  from  its  surround- 
ings, the  grouse  from  the  leaves,  the  gray  squirrel 
from  the  mossy  oak  limb  it  hugs  so  closely,  the  red 
fox  from  the  ruddy  or  brown  or  gray  field,  the  rab- 
bit from  the  stubble,  or  the  white  hare  from  the 
snow,  requires  the  best  powers  of  this  sense.  A 
woodchuck  motionless  in  the  fields  or  upon  a  rock 
looks  very  much  like  a  large  stone  or  bowlder,  yet 
a  keen  eye  knows  the  difference  at  a  glance,  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  away. 


SHARP  EYES  43 

A  man  has  a  sharper  eye  than  a  dog,  or  a  fox,  or 
than  any  of  the  wild  creatures,  but  not  so  sharp  an 
ear  or  nose.  But  in  the  birds  he  finds  his  match. 
How  quickly  the  old  turkey  discovers  the  hawk,  a 
mere  speck  against  the  sky,  and  how  quickly  the 
hawk  discovers  you  if  you  happen  to  be  secreted  in 
the  bushes,  or  behind  the  fence  near  which  he 
alights!  One  advantage  the  bird  surely  has,  and 
that  is,  owing  to  the  form,  structure,  and  position 
of  the  eye,  it  has  a  much  larger  field  of  vision,  —  in- 
deed, can  probably  see  in  nearly  every  direction  at 
the  same  instant,  behind  as  well  as  before.  Man's 
field  of  vision  embraces  less  than  half  a  circle  hori- 
zontally, and  still  less  vertically ;  his  brow  and  brain 
prevent  him  from  seeing  within  many  degrees  of  the 
zenith  without  a  movement  of  the  head;  the  bird, 
on  the  other  hand,  takes  in  nearly  the  whole  sphere 
at  a  glance. 

I  find  I  see,  almost  without  effort,  nearly  every 
bird  within  sight  in  the  field  or  wood  I  pass  through 
(a  flit  of  the  wing,  a  flirt  of  the  tail  are  enough, 
though  the  flickering  leaves  do  all  conspire  to  hide 
them),  and  that  with  like  ease  the  birds  see  me, 
though  unquestionably  the  chances  are  immensely  in 
their  favor.  The  eye  sees  what  it  has  the  means 
of  seeing,  truly.  You  must  have  the  bird  in  your 
heart  before  you  can  find  it  in  the  bush.  The  eye 
must  have  purpose  and  aim.  No  one  ever  yet  found 
the  walking  fern  who  did  not  have  the  walking  fern 
in  his  mind.  A  person  whose  eye  is  full  of  Indian 
relics  picks  them  up  in  every  field  he  walks  through. 


44  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

One  season  I  was  interested  in  the  tree-frogs,  es- 
pecially the  tiny  pipers  that  one  hears  about  the 
woods  and  brushy  fields,  —  the  hylas  of  the  swamps 
become  a  denizen  of  the  trees ;  I  had  never  seen  him 
in  this  new  role.  But  this  season,  having  them  in 
mind,  or  rather  being  ripe  for  them,  I  several  times 
came  across  them.  One  Sunday,  walking  amid  some 
bushes,  I  captured  two.  They  leaped  before  me,  as 
doubtless  they  had  done  many  times  before;  but 
though  not  looking  for  or  thinking  of  them,  yet  they 
were  quickly  recognized,  because  the  eye  had  been 
commissioned  to  find  them.  On  another  occasion, 
not  long  afterward,  I  was  hurriedly  loading  my  gun 
in  the  October  woods  in  hopes  of  overtaking  a  gray 
squirrel  that  was  fast  escaping  through  the  treetops, 
when  one  of  these  lilliput  frogs,  the  color  of  the 
fast-yellowing  leaves,  leaped  near  me.  I  saw  him 
only  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  and  yet  bagged 
him,  because  I  had  already  made  him  my  own. 

Nevertheless  the  habit  of  observation  is  the  habit 
of  clear  and  decisive  gazing:  not  by  a  first  casual 
glance,  but  by  a  steady,  deliberate  aim  of  the  eye,  are 
the  rare  and  characteristic  things  discovered.  You 
must  look  intently,  and  hold  your  eye  firmly  to  the 
spot,  to  see  more  than  do  the  rank  and  file  of  man- 
kind. The  sharpshooter  picks  out  his  man,  and 
knows  him  with  fatal  certainty  from  a  stump,  or  a 
rock,  or  a  cap  on  a  pole.  The  phrenologists  do  well 
to  locate,  not  only  form,  color,  weight,  etc.,  in  the 
region  of  the  eye,  but  a  faculty  which  they  call  in- 
dividuality, —  that  which  separates,  discriminates, 


SHARP  EYES  45 

and  sees  in  every  object  its  essential  character.  This 
is  just  as  necessary  to  the  naturalist  as  to  the  artist 
or  the  poet.  The  sharp  eye  notes  specific  points  and 
differences,  —  it  seizes  upon  and  preserves  the  indi- 
viduality of  the  thing. 

Persons  frequently  describe  to  me  some  bird  they 
have  seen  or  heard,  and  ask  me  to  name  it,  but  in 
most  cases  the  bird  might  be  any  one  of  a  dozen,  or 
else  it  is  totally  unlike  any  bird  found  on  this  conti- 
nent. They  have  either  seen  falsely  or  else  vaguely. 
Not  so  the  farm  youth  who  wrote  me  one  winter 
day  that  he  had  seen  a  single  pair  of  strange  birds, 
which  he  describes  as  follows:  "They  were  about 
the  size  of  the  *  chippie ; '  the  tops  of  their  heads 
were  red,  and  the  breast  of  the  male  was  of  the  same 
color,  while  that  of  the  female  was  much  lighter; 
their  rumps  were  also  faintly  tinged  with  red.  If  I 
have  described  them  so  that  you  would  know  them, 
please  write  me  their  names."  There  can  be  little 
doubt  but  the  young  observer  had  seen  a  pair  of  red- 
polls, —  a  bird  related  to  the  goldfinch,  and  that 
occasionally  comes  down  to  us  in  the  winter  from 
the  far  north.  Another  time,  the  same  youth  wrote 
that  he  had  seen  a  strange  bird,  the  color  of  a  spar- 
row, that  alighted  on  fences  and  buildings  as  well  as 
upon  the  ground,  and  that  walked.  This  last  fact 
showed  the  youth's  discriminating  eye  and  settled 
the  case.  From  this  and  the  season,  and  the  size 
and  color  of  the  bird,  I  knew  he  had  seen  the  pipit 
or  titlark.  But  how  many  persons  would  have 
observed  that  the  bird  walked  instead  of  hopped  ? 


46  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD  HONEY 

Some  friends  of  mine  who  lived  in  the  f  country 
tried  to  describe  to  me  a  bird  that  built  a  nest  in 
a  tree  within  a  few  feet  of  the  house.  As  it  was  a 
brown  bird,  I  should  have  taken  it  for  a  wood  thrush, 
had  not  the  nest  been  described  as  so  thin  and  loose 
that  from  beneath  the  eggs  could  be  distinctly  seen. 
The  most  pronounced  feature  in  the  description  was 
the  barred  appearance  of  the  under  side  of  the  bird's 
tail.  I  was  quite  at  sea,  until  one  day,  when  we 
were  driving  out,  a  cuckoo  flew  across  the  road  in 
front  of  us,  when  my  friends  exclaimed,  "There  is 
our  bird !  "  I  had  never  known  a  cuckoo  to  build 
near  a  house,  and  I  had  never  noted  the  appearance 
the  tail  presents  when  viewed  from  beneath;  but  if 
the  bird  had  been  described  in  its  most  obvious  fea- 
tures, as  slender,  with  a  long  tail,  cinnamon  brown 
above  and  white  beneath,  with  a  curved  bill,  any 
one  who  knew  the  bird  would  have  recognized  the 
portrait. 

We  think  we  have  looked  at  a  thing  sharply  until 
we  are  asked  for  its  specific  features.  I  thought  I 
knew  exactly  the  form  of  the  leaf  of  the  tulip-tree, 
until  one  day  a  lady  asked  me  to  draw  the  outlines 
of  one.  A  good  observer  is  quick  to  take  a  hint  and 
to  follow  it  up.  Most  of  the  facts  of  nature,  espe- 
cially in  the  life  of  the  birds  and  animals,  are  well 
screened.  We  do  not  see  the  play  because  we  do 
not  look  intently  enough.  The  other  day  I  was  sit- 
ting with  a  friend  upon  a  high  rock  in  the  woods, 
near  a  small  stream,  when  we  saw  a  water-snake 
swimming  across  a  pool  toward  the  opposite  bank. 


SHARP   EYES  47 

Any  eye  would  have  noted  it,  perhaps  nothing  more. 
A  little  closer  and  sharper  gaze  revealed  the  fact  that 
the  snake  bore  something  in  its  mouth,  which,  as 
we  went  down  to  investigate,  proved  to  be  a  small 
catfish,  three  or  four  inches  long.  The  snake  had 
captured  it  in  the  pool,  and,  like  any  other  fisher- 
man, wanted  to  get  its  prey  to  dry  land,  although  it 
itself  lived  mostly  in  the  water.  Here,  we  said,  is 
being  enacted  a  little  tragedy  that  would  have  es- 
caped any  but  sharp  eyes.  The  snake,  which  was 
itself  small,  had  the  fish  by  the  throat,  the  hold  of 
vantage  among  all  creatures,  and  clung  to  it  with 
great  tenacity.  The  snake  knew  that  its  best  tactics 
was  to  get  upon  dry  land  as  soon  as  possible.  It 
could  not  swallow  its  victim  alive,  and  it  could  not 
strangle  it  in  the  water.  For  a  while  it  tried  to  kill 
its  game  by  holding  it  up  out  of  the  water,  but  the 
fish  grew  heavy,  and  every  few  moments  its  strug- 
gles brought  down  the  snake's  head.  This  would 
not  do.  Compressing  the  fish's  throat  would  not 
shut  off  its  breath  under  such  circumstances,  so  the 
wily  serpent  tried  to  get  ashore  with  it,  and  after 
several  attempts  succeeded  in  effecting  a  landing  on 
a  flat  rock.  But  the  fish  died  hard.  Catfish  do  not 
give  up  the  ghost  in  a  hurry.  Its  throat  was  be- 
coming congested,  but  the  snake's  distended  jaws 
must  have  ached.  It  was  like  a  petrified  gape. 
Then  the  spectators  became  very  curious  and  close 
in  their  scrutiny,  and  the  snake  determined  to  with- 
draw from  the  public  gaze  and  finish  the  business 
in  hand  to  its  own  notions.  But,  when  gently  but 


48  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

firmly  remonstrated  with  by  my  friend  with  his 
walking-stick,  it  dropped  the  fish  and  retreated  in 
high  dudgeon  beneath  a  stone  in  the  bed  of  the 
creek.  The  fish,  with  a  swollen  and  angry  throat, 
went  its  way  also. 

Birds,  I  say,  have  wonderfully  keen  eyes.  Throw 
a  fresh  bone  or  a  piece  of  meat  upon  the  snow  in 
winter,  and  see  how  soon  the  crows  will  discover  it 
and  be  on  hand.  If  it  be  near  the  house  or  barn, 
the  crow  that  first  discovers  it  will  alight  near  it,  to 
make  sure  he  is  not  deceived ;  then  he  will  go  away, 
and  soon  return  with  a  companion.  The  two  alight 
a  few  yards  from  the  bone,  and  after  some  delay, 
during  which  the  vicinity  is  sharply  scrutinized,  one 
of  the  crows  advances  boldly  to  within  a  few  feet  of 
the  coveted  prize.  Here  he  pauses,  and  if  no  trick 
is  discovered,  and  the  meat  be  indeed  meat,  he  seizes 
it  and  makes  off. 

One  midwinter  I  cleared  away  the  snow  under  an 
apple-tree  near  the  house  and  scattered  some  corn 
there.  I  had  not  seen  a  blue  jay  for  weeks,  yet  that 
very  day  they  found  my  corn,  and  after  that  they 
came  daily  and  partook  of  it,  holding  the  kernels 
under  their  feet  upon  the  limbs  of  the  trees  and 
pecking  them  vigorously. 

Of  course  the  woodpecker  and  his  kind  have  sharp 
eyes,  still  I  was  surprised  to  see  how  quickly  Downy 
found  out  some  bones  that  were  placed  in  a  conven- 
ient place  under  the  shed  to  be  pounded  up  for  the 
hens.  In  going  out  to  the  barn  I  often  disturbed 
him  making  a  meal  off  the  bits  of  meat  that  still 
adhered  to  them. 


SHARP  EYES  49 

"Look  intently  enough  at  anything,"  said  a  poet 
to  me  one  day,  "and  you  will  see  something  that 
would  otherwise  escape  you."  I  thought  of  the  re- 
mark as  I  sat  on  a  stump  in  an  opening  of  the  woods 
one  spring  day.  I  saw  a  small  hawk  approaching; 
he  flew  to  a  tall  tulip-tree,  and  alighted  on  a  large 
limb  near  the  top.  He  eyed  me  and  I  eyed  him. 
Then  the  bird  disclosed  a  trait  that  was  new  to  me : 
he  hopped  along  the  limb  to  a  small  cavity  near  the 
trunk,  when  he  thrust  in  his  head  and  pulled  out 
some  small  object  and  fell  to  eating  it.  After  he 
had  partaken  of  it  for  some  minutes  he  put  the  re- 
mainder back  in  his  larder  and  flew  away.  I  had 
seen  something  like  feathers  eddying  slowly  down 
as  the  hawk  ate,  and  on  approaching  the  spot  found 
the  feathers  of  a  sparrow  here  and  there  clinging  to 
the  bushes  beneath  the  tree.  The  hawk,  then,  — 
commonly  called  the  chicken  hawk,  —  is  as  provident 
as  a  mouse  or  squirrel,  and  lays  by  a  store  against  a 
time  of  need,  but  I  should  not  have  discovered  the 
fact  had  I  not  held  my  eye  to  him. 

An  observer  of  the  birds  is  attracted  by  any  un- 
usual sound  or  commotion  among  them.  In  May  or 
June,  when  other  birds  are  most  vocal,  the  jay  is  a 
silent  bird;  he  goes  sneaking  about  the  orchards  and 
the  groves  as  silent  as  a  pickpocket;  he  is  robbing 
birds'-nests,  and  he  is  very  anxious  that  nothing 
should  be  said  about  it,  but  in  the  fall  none  so  quick 
and  loud  to  cry  "  Thief,  thief ! "  as  he.  One  Decem- 
ber morning  a  troop  of  them  discovered  a  little 
screech  owl  secreted  in  the  hollow  trunk  of  an  old 


50  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

apple-tree  near  my  house.  How  they  found  the  owl 
out  is  a  mystery,  since  it  never  ventures  forth  in  the 
light  of  day;  but  they  did,  and  proclaimed  the  fact 
with  great  emphasis.  I  suspect  the  bluebirds  first 
told  them,  for  these  birds  are  constantly  peeping  into 
holes  and  crannies,  both  spring  and  fall.  Some  un- 
suspecting bird  probably  entered  the  cavity  prospect- 
ing for  a  place  for  next  year's  nest,  or  else  looking 
out  a  likely  place  to  pass  a  cold  night,  when  it  has 
rushed  out  with  important  news.  A  boy  who  should 
unwittingly  venture  into  a  bear's  den  when  Bruin 
was  at  home  could  not  be  more  astonished  and 
alarmed  than  a  bluebird  would  be  on  finding  itself 
in  the  cavity  of  a  decayed  tree  with  an  owl.  At  any 
rate,  the  bluebirds  joined  the  jays  in  calling  the 
attention  of  all  whom  it  might  concern  to  the  fact 
that  a  culprit  of  some  sort  was  hiding  from  the  light 
of  day  in  the  old  apple-tree.  I  heard  the  notes  of 
warning  and  alarm  and  approached  to  within  eye- 
shot. The  bluebirds  were  cautious  and  hovered  about 
uttering  their  peculiar  twittering  calls;  but  the  jays 
were  bolder  and  took  turns  looking  in  at  the  cavity, 
and  deriding  the  poor,  shrinking  owl.  A  jay  would 
alight  in  the  entrance  of  the  hole,  and  flirt  and  peer 
and  attitudinize,  and  then  fly  away  crying  "Thief, 
thief,  thief ! "  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

I  climbed  up  and  peered  into  the  opening,  and 
could  just  descry  the  owl  clinging  to  the  inside  of 
the  tree.  I  reached  in  and  took  him  out,  giving 
little  heed  to  the  threatening  snapping  of  his  beak. 
He  was  as  red  as  a  fox  and  as  yellow-eyed  as  a  cat. 


SHARP   EYES  51 

He  made  no  effort  to  escape,  but  planted  his  claws  in 
my  forefinger  and  clung  there  with  a  grip  that  soon 
grew  uncomfortable.  I  placed  him  in  the  loft  of  an 
outhouse,  in  hopes  of  getting  better  acquainted  with 
him.  By  day  he  was  a  very  willing  prisoner,  scarcely 
moving  at  all,  even  when  approached  and  touched 
with  the  hand,  but  looking  out  upon  the  world  with 
half-closed,  sleepy  eyes.  But  at  night  what  a  change ! 
how  alert,  how  wild,  how  active!  He  was  like  an- 
other bird;  he  darted  about  with  wide,  fearful  eyes, 
and  regarded  me  like  a  cornered  cat.  I  opened  the 
window,  and  swiftly,  but  as  silent  as  a  shadow,  he 
glided  out  into  the  congenial  darkness,  and  perhaps, 
ere  this,  has  revenged  himself  upon  the  sleeping  jay 
or  bluebird  that  first  betrayed  his  hiding-place. 


m 

STRAWBERRIES 

'  \  ITAS  it  old  Dr.  Parr  who  said  or  sighed  in  his 
'  •  last  illness,  "  Oh,  if  I  can  only  live  till  straw- 
berries come !  "  The  old  scholar  imagined  that,  if 
he  could  weather  it  till  then,  the  berries  would  carry 
him  through.  No  doubt  he  had  turned  from  the 
drugs  and  the  nostrums,  or  from  the  hateful  food, 
to  the  memory  of  the  pungent,  penetrating,  and  un- 
speakably fresh  quality  of  the  strawberry  with  the 
deepest  longing.  The  very  thought  of  these  crim- 
son lobes,  embodying  as  it  were  the  first  glow  and 
ardor  of  the  young  summer,  and  with  their  power  to 
unsheathe  the  taste  and  spur  the  nagging  appetite, 
made  life  seem  possible  and  desirable  with  him. 

The  strawberry  is  always  the  hope  of  the  invalid, 
and  sometimes,  no  doubt,  his  salvation.  It  is  the 
first  and  finest  relish  among  fruits,  and  well  merits 
Dr.  Boteler's  memorable  saying,  that  "doubtless  God 
could  have  made  a  better  berry,  but  doubtless  God 
never  did." 

On  the  threshold  of  summer,  Nature  proffers  us 
this  her  virgin  fruit;  more  rich  and  sumptuous  are 
to  follow,  but  the  wild  delicacy  and  fillip  of  the 
strawberry  are  never  repeated,  —  that  keen  feathered 
edge  greets  the  tongue  in  nothing  else. 


54        LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

Let  me  not  be  afraid  of  overpraising  it,  but  probe 
and  probe  for  words  to  hint  its  surprising  virtues. 
We  may  well  celebrate  it  with  festivals  and  music. 
It  has  that  indescribable  quality  of  all  first  things, 
—  that  shy,  uncloying,  provoking  barbed  sweetness. 
It  is  eager  and  sanguine  as  youth.  It  is  born  of  the 
copious  dews,  the  fragrant  nights,  the  tender  skies, 
the  plentiful  rains  of  the  early  season.  The  singing 
of  birds  is  in  it,  and  the  health  and  frolic  of  lusty 
Nature.  It  is  the  product  of  liquid  May  touched  by 
the  June  sun.  It  has  the  tartness,  the  briskness, 
the  unruliness  of  spring,  and  the  aroma  and  intensity 
of  summer. 

Oh  the  strawberry  days !  how  vividly  they  come 
back  to  one!  The  smell  of  clover  in  the  fields,  of 
blooming  rye  on  the  hills,  of  the  wild  grape  beside 
the  woods,  and  of  the  sweet  honeysuckle  and  spira?a 
about  the  house.  The  first  hot,  moist  days.  The 
daisies  and  buttercups;  the  songs  of  the  birds,  their 
first  reckless  jollity  and  love-making  over;  the  full 
tender  foliage  of  the  trees;  the  bees  swarming,  and 
the  air  strung  with  resonant  musical  chords.  The 
time  of  the  sweetest  and  most  succulent  grass,  when 
the  cows  come  home  with  aching  udders.  Indeed, 
the  strawberry  belongs  to  the  juciest  time  of  the 
year. 

What  a  challenge  it  is  to  the  taste !  how  it  bites 
back  again!  and  is  there  any  other  sound  like  the 
snap  and  crackle  with  which  it  salutes  the  ear  on 
being  plucked  from  the  stems  1  It  is  a  threat  to 
one  sense  that  the  other  is  soon  to  verify.  It  snaps 


STRAWBERRIES  55 

to  the  ear  as  it  smacks  to  the  tongue.  All  other 
berries  are  tame  beside  it. 

The  plant  is  almost  an  evergreen ;  it  loves  the  cov- 
erlid of  the  snow,  and  will  keep  fresh  through  the 
severest  winters  with  a  slight  protection.  The  frost 
leaves  its  virtues  in  it.  The  berry  is  a  kind  of  vege- 
table snow.  How  cool,  how  tonic,  how  melting, 
and  how  perishable !  It  is  almost  as  easy  to  keep 
frost.  Heat  kills  it,  and  sugar  quickly  breaks  up 
its  cells. 

Is  there  anything  like  the  odor  of  strawberries? 
The  next  best  thing  to  tasting  them  is  to  smell  them ; 
one  may  put  his  nose  to  the  dish  while  the  fruit  is 
yet  too  rare  and  choice  for  his  fingers.  Touch  not 
and  taste  not,  but  take  a  good  smell  and  go  mad! 
Last  fall  I  potted  some  of  the  Downer,  and  in  the 
winter  grew  them  in  the  house.  In  March  the  ber- 
ries were  ripe,  only  four  or  five  on  a  plant,  just 
enough,  all  told,  to  make  one  consider  whether  it 
was  not  worth  while  to  kill  off  the  rest  of  the  house- 
hold, so  that  the  berries  need  not  be  divided.  But 
if  every  tongue  could  not  have  a  feast,  every  nose 
banqueted  daily  upon  them.  They  filled  the  house 
with  perfume.  The  Downer  is  remarkable  in  this 
respect.  Grown  in  the  open  field,  it  surpasses  in  its 
odor  any  strawberry  of  my  acquaintance.  And  it  is 
scarcely  less  agreeable  to  the  taste.  It  is  a  very 
beautiful  berry  to  look  upon,  round,  light  pink,  with 
a  delicate,  fine-grained  expression.  Some  berries 
shine,  the  Downer  glows  as  if  there  were  a  red  bloom 
upon  it.  Its  core  is  firm  and  white,  its  skin  thin 


56  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

and  easily  bruised,  which  makes  it  a  poor  market 
berry,  but,  with  its  high  flavor  and  productiveness, 
an  admirable  one  for  home  use.  It  seems  to  be  as 
easily  grown  as  the  Wilson,  while  it  is  much  more 
palatable.  The  great  trouble  with  the  Wilson,  as 
everybody  knows,  is  its  rank  acidity.  When  it 
first  comes,  it  is  difficult  to  eat  it  without  making 
faces.  It  is  crabbed  and  acrimonious.  Like  some 
persons,  the  Wilson  will  not  ripen  and  sweeten  till 
its  old  age.  Its  largest  and  finest  crop,  if  allowed 
to  remain  on  the  vines,  will  soften  and  fail  unregen- 
erated,  or  with  all  its  sins  upon  it.  But  wait  till 
toward  the  end  of  the  season,  after  the  plant  gets 
over  its  hurry  and  takes  time  to  ripen  its  fruit.  The 
berry  will  then  face  the  sun  for  days,  and,  if  the 
weather  is  not  too  wet,  instead  of  softening  will 
turn  dark  and  grow  rich.  Out  of  its  crabbedness 
and  spitefulness  come  the  finest,  choicest  flavors. 
It  is  an  astonishing  berry.  It  lays  hold  of  the  taste 
in  a  way  that  the  aristocratic  berries,  like  the  Jo- 
cunda  or  Triumph,  cannot  approximate  to.  Its  qual- 
ity is  as  penetrating  as  that  of  ants  and  wasps,  but 
sweet.  It  is,  indeed,  a  wild  bee  turned  into  a  berry, 
with  the  sting  mollified  and  the  honey  disguised. 
A  quart  of  these  rare-ripes  I  venture  to  say  contains 
more  of  the  peculiar  virtue  and  excellence  of  the 
strawberry  kind  than  can  be  had  in  twice  the  same 
quantity  of  any  other  cultivated  variety.  Take  these 
berries  in  a  bowl  of  rich  milk  with  some  bread,  — 
ah,  what  a  dish !  —  too  good  to  set  before  a  king !  I 
suspect  this  was  the  food  of  Adam  in  Paradise,  only 


STRAWBERRIES  57 

Adam  did  not  have  the  Wilson  strawberry ;  he  had 
the  wild  strawberry  that  Eve  plucked  in  their  hill- 
meadow  and  "hulled  "  with  her  own  hands,  and  that, 
take  it  all  in  all,  even  surpasses  the  late-ripened 
Wilson. 

Adam  is  still  extant  in  the  taste  and  appetite  of 
most  country  boys;  lives  there  a  country  boy  who 
does  not  like  wild  strawberries  and  milk,  —  yea,  pre- 
fers it  to  any  other  known  dish  ?  I  am  not  think- 
ing of  a  dessert  of  strawberries  and  cream;  this  the 
city  boy  may  have,  too,  after  a  sort;  but  bread-and- 
milk,  with  the  addition  of  wild  strawberries,  is  pe- 
culiarly a  country  dish,  and  is  to  the  taste  what  a 
wild  bird's  song  is  to  the  ear.  When  I  was  a  lad, 
and  went  afield  with  my  hoe  or  with  the  cows,  dur- 
ing the  strawberry  season,  I  was  sure  to  return  at 
meal-time  with  a  lining  of  berries  in  the  top  of  my 
straw  hat.  They  were  my  daily  food,  and  I  could 
taste  the  liquid  and  gurgling  notes  of  the  bobolink 
in  every  spoonful  of  them ;  and  at  this  day,  to  make 
a  dinner  or  supper  off  a  bowl  of  milk  with  bread 
and  strawberries,  —  plenty  of  strawberries,  —  well, 
is  as  near  to  being  a  boy  again  as  I  ever  expect  to 
come.  The  golden  age  draws  sensibly  near.  Ap- 
petite becomes  a  kind  of  delicious  thirst,  —  a  gentle 
and  subtle  craving  of  all  parts  of  the  mouth  and 
throat,  —  and  those  nerves  of  taste  that  occupy,  as 
it  were,  a  back  seat,  and  take  little  cognizance  of 
grosser  foods,  come  forth,  and  are  played  upon  and 
set  vibrating.  Indeed,  I  think,  if  there  is  ever  re- 
joicing throughout  one's  alimentary  household,  — 


58  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

if  ever  that  much-abused  servant,  the  stomach,  says 
Amen,  or  those  faithful  handmaidens,  the  liver  and 
spleen,  nudge  each  other  delightedly,  it  must  be 
when  one  on  a  torrid  summer  day  passes  by  the  solid 
and  carnal  dinner  for  this  simple  Arcadian  dish. 

The  wild  strawberry,  like  the  wild  apple,  is  spicy 
and  high-flavored,  but,  unlike  the  apple,  it  is  also 
mild  and  delicious.  It  has  the  true  rustic  sweetness 
and  piquancy.  What  it  lacks  in  size,  when  compared 
with  the  garden  berry,  it  makes  up  in  intensity.  It 
is  never  dropsical  or  overgrown,  but  firm-fleshed  and 
hardy.  Its  great  enemies  are  the  plow,  gypsum,  and 
the  horse-rake.  It  dislikes  a  limestone  soil,  but 
seems  to  prefer  the  detritus  of  the  stratified  rock. 
Where  the  sugar  maple  abounds,  I  have  always  found 
plenty  of  wild  strawberries.  We  have  two  kinds, 
—  the  wood  berry  and  the  field  berry.  The  former 
is  as  wild  as  a  partridge.  It  is  found  in  open  places 
in  the  woods  and  along  the  borders,  growing  beside 
stumps  and  rocks,  never  in  abundance,  but  very 
sparsely.  It  is  small,  cone-shaped,  dark  red,  shiny, 
and  pimply.  It  looks  woody,  and  tastes  so.  It  has 
never  reached  the  table,  nor  made  the  acquaintance 
of  cream.  A  quart  of  them,  at  a  fair  price  for  human 
2abor,  would  be  worth  their  weight  in  silver  at  least. 
(Yet  a  careful  observer  writes  me  that  in  certain 
sections  in  the  western  part  of  New  York  they  are 
very  plentiful.) 

Ovid  mentions  the  wood  strawberry,  which  would 
lead  one  to  infer  that  they  were  more  abundant  in 
his  time  and  country  than  in  ours. 


STRAWBERRIES  59 

This  is,  perhaps,  the  same  as  the  alpine  straw- 
berry, which  is  said  to  grow  in  the  mountains  of 
Greece,  and  thence  northward.  This  was  probably 
the  first  variety  cultivated,  though  our  native  species 
would  seem  as  unpromising  a  subject  for  the  garden 
as  club- moss  or  wintergreens. 

Of  the  field  strawberry  there  are  a  great  many 
varieties,  —  some  growing  in  meadows,  some  in  pas- 
tures, and  some  upon  mountain-tops.  Some  are 
round,  and  stick  close  to  the  calyx  or  hull;  some  are 
long  and  pointed,  with  long,  tapering  necks.  These 
usually  grow  upon  tall  stems.  They  are,  indeed, 
of  the  slim,  linear  kind.  Your  corpulent  berry 
keeps  close  to  the  ground;  its  stem  and  foot-stalk 
are  short,  and  neck  it  has  none.  Its  color  is  deeper 
than  that  of  its  tall  brother,  and  of  course  it  has 
more  juice.  You  are  more  apt  to  find  the  tall  varie- 
ties upon  knolls  in  low,  wet  meadows,  and  again 
upon  mountain- tops,  growing  in  tussocks  of  wild 
grass  about  the  open  summits.  These  latter  ripen 
in  July,  and  give  one  his  last  taste  of  strawberries 
for  the  season. 

But  the  favorite  haunt  of  the  wild  strawberry  is 
an  uplying  meadow  that  has  been  exempt  from  the 
plow  for  five  or  six  years,  and  that  has  little  timothy 
and  much  daisy.  When  you  go  a-berrying,  turn 
your  steps  toward  the  milk-white  meadows.  The 
slightly  bitter  odor  of  the  daisies  is  very  agreeable 
to  the  smell,  and  affords  a  good  background  for  the 
perfume  of  the  fruit.  The  strawberry  cannot  cope 
with  the  rank  and  deep-rooted  clover,  and  seldom 


60        LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

appears  in  a  field  till  the  clover  has  had  its  day. 
But  the  daisy  with  its  slender  stalk  does  not  crowd 
or  obstruct  the  plant,  while  its  broad  white  flower  is 
like  a  light  parasol  that  tempers  and  softens  the  too 
strong  sunlight.  Indeed,  daisies  and  strawberries 
are  generally  associated.  Nature  fills  her  dish  with 
the  berries,  then  covers  them  with  the  white  and 
yellow  of  milk  and  cream,  thus  suggesting  a  combi- 
nation we  are  quick  to  follow.  Milk  alone,  after  it 
loses  its  animal  heat,  is  a  clod,  and  begets  torpidity 
of  the  brain;  the  berries  lighten  it,  give  wings  to 
it,  and  one  is  fed  as  by  the  air  he  breathes  or  the 
water  he  drinks. 

Then  the  delight  of  "picking"  the  wild  berries! 
It  is  one  of  the  fragrant  memories  of  boyhood.  In- 
deed, for  boy  or  man  to  go  a-berrying  in  a  cer- 
tain pastoral  country  I  know  of,  where  a  passer-by 
along  the  highway  is  often  regaled  by  a  breeze  loaded 
with  a  perfume  of  the  o'er-ripe  fruit,  is  to  get  nearer 
to  June  than  by  almost  any  course  I  know  of.  Your 
errand  is  so  private  and  confidential!  You  stoop 
low.  You  part  away  the  grass  and  the  daisies,  and 
would  lay  bare  the  inmost  secrets  of  the  meadow. 
Everything  is  yet  tender  and  succulent;  the  very 
air  is  bright  and  new;  the  warm  breath  of  the 
meadow  comes  up  in  your  face;  to  your  knees  you 
are  in  a  sea  of  daisies  and  clover;  from  your  knees 
up,  you  are  in  a  sea  of  solar  light  and  warmth.  Now 
you  are  prostrate  like  a  swimmer,  or  like  a  surf- 
bather  reaching  for  pebbles  or  shells,  the  white  and 
green  spray  breaks  above  you;  then,  like  a  devotee 


STRAWBERRIES  61 

before  a  shrine,  or  naming  his  beads,  your  rosary 
strung  with  luscious  berries;  anon  you  are  a  grazing 
Nebuchadnezzar,  or  an  artist  taking  an  inverted  view 
of  the  landscape. 

The  birds  are  alarmed  by  your  close  scrutiny  of 
their  domain.  They  hardly  know  whether  to  sing 
or  to  cry,  and  do  a  little  of  both.  The  bobolink 
follows  you  and  circles  above  and  in  advance  of  you, 
and  is  ready  to  give  you  a  triumphal  exit  from  the 
field,  if  you  will  only  depart. 

"  Ye  boys  that  gather  flowers  and  strawberries, 
Lo,  hid  within  the  grass,  an  adder  lies," 

Warton  makes  Virgil  sing;  and  Montaigne,  in  his 
"Journey  to  Italy,"  says:  "The  children  very  often 
are  afraid,  on  account  of  the  snakes,  to  go  and  pick 
the  strawberries  that  grow  in  quantities  on  the  moun- 
tains and  among  the  bushes."  But  there  is  no  ser- 
pent here,  — at  worst,  only  a  bumblebee's  or  yellow- 
jacket's  nest.  You  soon  find  out  the  spring  in  the 
corner  of  the  field  under  the  beechen  tree.  While 
you  wipe  your  brow  and  thank  the  Lord  for  spring 
water,  you  glance  at  the  initials  in  the  bark,  some 
of  them  so  old  that  they  seem  runic  and  legendary. 
You  find  out,  also,  how  gregarious  the  strawberry  is, 
—  that  the  different  varieties  exist  in  little  colonies 
about  the  field.  When  you  strike  the  outskirts  of 
one  of  these  plantations,  how  quickly  you  work  to- 
ward the  centre  of  it,  and  then  from  the  centre  out, 
then  circumnavigate  it,  and  follow  up  all  its  branch- 
ings and  windings! 

Then  the  delight  in  the  abstract  and  in  the  con- 


62  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

crete  of  strolling  and  lounging  about  the  June  mead- 
ows; of  lying  in  pickle  for  half  a  day  or  more  in 
this  pastoral  sea,  laved  by  the  great  tide,  shone  upon 
by  the  virile  sun,  drenched  to  the  very  marrow  of 
your  being  with  the  warm  and  wooing  influences 
of  the  young  summer! 

I  was  a  famous  berry-picker  when  a  boy.  It  was 
near  enough  to  hunting  and  fishing  to  enlist  me. 
Mother  would  always  send  me  in  preference  to  any 
of  the  rest  of  the  boys.  I  got  the  biggest  berries 
and  the  most  of  them.  There  was  something  of  the 
excitement  of  the  chase  in  the  occupation,  and  some- 
thing of  the  charm  and  preciousness  of  game  about 
the  trophies.  The  pursuit  had  its  surprises,  its  ex- 
pectancies, its  sudden  disclosures,  — in  fact,  its  un- 
certainties. I  went  forth  adventurously.  I  could 
wander  free  as  the  wind.  Then  there  were  moments 
of  inspiration,  for  it  always  seemed  a  felicitous  stroke 
to  light  upon  a  particularly  fine  spot,  as  it  does  when 
one  takes  an  old  and  wary  trout.  You  discovered 
the  game  where  it  was  hidden.  Your  genius 
prompted  you.  Another  had  passed  that  way  and 
had  missed  the  prize.  Indeed,  the  successful  berry- 
picker,  like  Walton's  angler,  is  born,  not  made.  It 
is  only  another  kind  of  angling.  In  the  same  field 
one  boy  gets  big  berries  and  plenty  of  them ;  another 
wanders  up  and  down,  and  finds  only  a  few  little 
ones.  He  cannot  see  them;  he  does  not  know  how 
to  divine  them  where  they  lurk  under  the  leaves  and 
vines.  The  berry-grower  knows  that  in  the  culti- 
vated patch  his  pickers  are  very  unequal,  the  baskets 


STRAWBERRIES  63 

of  one  boy  or  girl  having  so  inferior  a  look  that  it 
does  not  seem  possible  they  could  have  been  filled 
from  the  same  vines  with  certain  others.  But  nei- 
ther blunt  fingers  nor  blunt  eyes  are  hard  to  find; 
and  as  there  are  those  who  can  see  nothing  clearly, 
so  there  are  those  who  can  touch  nothing  deftly  or 
gently. 

The  cultivation  of  the  strawberry  is  thought  to  be 
comparatively  modern.  The  ancients  appear  to  have 
been  a  carnivorous  race :  they  gorged  themselves  with 
meat ;  while  the  modern  man  makes  larger  and  larger 
use  of  fruits  and  vegetables,  until  this  generation  is 
doubtless  better  fed  than  any  that  has  preceded  it. 
The  strawberry  and  the  apple,  and  such  vegetables 
as  celery,  ought  to  lengthen  human  life,  —  at  least 
to  correct  its  biliousness  and  make  it  more  sweet  and 
sanguine. 

The  first  impetus  to  strawberry  culture  seems  to 
have  been  given  by  the  introduction  of  our  field 
berry  (Fragaria  Virginiana)  into  England  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  though  not  much  progress  was 
made  till  the  eighteenth.  This  variety  is  much  more 
fragrant  and  aromatic  than  the  native  berry  of  Eu- 
rope, though  less  so  in  that  climate  than  when  grown 
here.  Many  new  seedlings  sprang  from  it,  and  it 
was  the  prevailing  berry  in  English  and  French  gar- 
dens, says  Fuller,  until  the  South  American  species, 
grandiflora,  was  introduced  and  supplanted  it.  This 
berry  is  naturally  much  larger  and  sweeter,  and  bet- 
ter adapted  to  the  English  climate,  than  our  Virgin- 
iana. Hence  the  English  strawberries  of  to-day 


64  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

surpass  ours  in  these  respects,  but  are  wanting  in 
that  aromatic  pungency  that  characterizes  most  of 
our  berries. 

The  Jocunda,  Triumph,  Victoria,  etc.,  are  foreign 
varieties  of  the  Grandiflora  species ;  while  the  Hovey, 
the  Boston  Pine,  the  Downer,  etc.,  are  natives  of 
this  country. 

The  strawberry,  in  the  main,  repeats  the  form  of 
the  human  heart,  and  perhaps,  of  all  the  small  fruits 
known  to  man,  none  other  is  so  deeply  and  fondly 
cherished,  or  hailed  with  such  universal  delight,  as 
this  lowly  but  youth-renewing  berry. 


IV 

IS  IT  GOING  TO  RAIN? 

T  SUSPECT  that,  like  most  countrymen,  I  was 
born  with  a  chronic  anxiety  about  the  weather. 
Is  it  going  to  rain  or  snow,  be  hot  or  cold,  wet  or 
dry  ?  —  are  inquiries  upon  which  I  would  fain  get 
the  views  of  every  man  I  meet,  and  I  find  that  most 
men  are  fired  with  the  same  desire  to  get  my  views 
upon  the  same  set  of  subjects.  To  a  countryman 
the  weather  means  something,  —  to  a  farmer  espe- 
cially. The  farmer  has  sowed  and  planted  and 
reaped  and  vended  nothing  but  weather  all  his  life. 
The  weather  must  lift  the  mortgage  on  his  farm, 
and  pay  his  taxes,  and  feed  and  clothe  his  family. 
Of  what  use  is  his  labor  unless  seconded  by  the 
weather1?  Hence  there  is  speculation  in  his  eye 
whenever  he  looks  at  the  clouds,  or  the  moon,  or  the 
sunset,  or  the  stars ;  for  even  the  Milky  Way,  in  his 
view,  may  point  the  direction  of  the  wind  to-morrow, 
and  hence  is  closely  related  to  the  price  of  butter. 
He  may  not  take  the  sage's  advice  to  "hitch  his 
wagon  to  a  star, "  but  he  pins  his  hopes  to  the  moon, 
and  plants  and  sows  by  its  phases. 

Then  the  weather  is  that  phase  of  Nature  in  which 
she  appears  not  the  immutable  fate  we  are  so  wont  to 


66  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

regard  her,  but  on  the  contrary  something  quite  hu- 
man and  changeable,  not  to  say  womanish,  —  a  crea- 
ture of  moods,  of  caprices,  of  cross  purposes;  gloomy 
and  downcast  to-day,  and  all  light  and  joy  to-mor- 
row; caressing  and  tender  one  moment,  and  severe 
and  frigid  the  next;  one  day  iron,  the  next  day  va- 
por; inconsistent,  inconstant,  incalculable;  full  of 
genius,  full  of  folly,  full  of  extremes ;  to  be  read  and 
understood,  not  by  rule,  but  by  subtle  signs  and  in- 
directions, —  by  a  look,  a  glance,  a  presence,  as  we 
read  and  understand  a  man  or  a  woman.  Some  days 
are  like  a  rare  poetic  mood.  There  is  a  felicity  and 
an  exhilaration  about  them  from  morning  till  night. 
They  are  positive  and  fill  one  with  celestial  fire. 
Other  days  are  negative  and  drain  one  of  his  elec- 
tricity. 

Sometimes  the  elements  show  a  marked  genius  for 
fair  weather,  as  in  the  fall  and  early  winter  of  1877, 
when  October,  grown  only  a  little  stern,  lasted  till 
January.  Every  shuffle  of  the  cards  brought  these 
mild,  brilliant  days  uppermost.  There  was  not 
enough  frost  to  stop  the  plow,  save  once  perhaps, 
till  the  new  year  set  in.  Occasionally  a  fruit-tree 
put  out  a  blossom  and  developed  young  fruit.  The 
warring  of  the  elements  was  chiefly  done  on  the 
other  side  of  the  globe,  where  it  formed  an  accom- 
paniment to  the  human  war  raging  there.  In  our 
usually  merciless  skies  was  written  only  peace  and 
good- will  to  men,  for  months. 

What  a  creature  of  habit,  too,  Nature  is  as  she 
appears  in  the  weather!  If  she  miscarry  once  she 


IS   IT   GOING  TO  EAIN  ?  67 

will  twice  and  thrice,  and  a  dozen  times.  In  a  wet 
time  it  rains  to-day  because  it  rained  yesterday,  and 
will  rain  to-morrow  because  it  rained  to-day.  Are 
f-he  crops  in  any  part  of  the  country  drowning? 
"They  shall  continue  to  drown.  Are  they  burning 
ap?  They  shall  continue  to  burn.  The  elements 
i;et  in  a  rut  and  can't  get  out  without  a  shock.  I 
know  a  farmer  who,  in  a  dry  time,  when  the  clouds 
gather  and  look  threatening,  gets  out  his  watering- 
pot  at  once,  because,  he  says,  "it  won't  rain,  and 
'tis  an  excellent  time  to  apply  the  water."  Of 
course,  there  comes  a  time  when  the  farmer  is  wrong, 
but  he  is  right  four  times  out  of  five. 

But  I  am  not  going  to  abuse  the  weather;  rather 
to  praise  it,  and  make  some  amends  for  the  many 
ill-natured  things  I  have  said,  within  hearing  of  the 
clouds,  when  I  have  been  caught  in  the  rain  or  been 
parched  and  withered  by  the  drought. 

When  Mr.  Fields's  "  Village  Dogmatist "  was  asked 
what  caused  the  rain,  or  the  fog,  he  leaned  upon 
his  cane  and  answered,  with  an  air  of  profound  wis- 
dom, that  "when  the  atmosphere  and  hemisphere 
come  together  it  causes  the  earth  to  sweat,  and 
thereby  produces  the  rain,"  —  or  the  fog,  as  the 
case  may  be.  The  explanation  is  a  little  vague,  as 
his  biographer  suggests,  but  it  is  picturesque,  and 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  two  somethings  do 
come  in  contact  that  produce  a  sweating  when  it 
rains  or  is  foggy.  More  than  that,  the  philosophy 
is  simple  and  comprehensive,  which  Goethe  said  was 
the  main  matter  in  such  things.  Goethe's  explana- 


68  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

tion  is  still  more  picturesque,  but  I  doubt  if  it  is  a 
bit  better  philosophy.  "I  compare  the  earth  and 
her  atmosphere,"  he  said  to  Eckermann,  "to  a  great 
living  being  perpetually  inhaling  and  exhaling.  If 
she  inhale  she  draws  the  atmosphere  to  her,  so  that, 
coming  near  her  surface,  it  is  condensed  to  clouds  and 
rain.  This  state  I  call  water-affirmative. "  The  op- 
posite state,  when  the  earth  exhales  and  sends  the 
watery  vapors  upward  so  that  they  are  dissipated 
through  the  whole  space  of  the  higher  atmosphere, 
he  called  "water-negative." 

This  is  good  literature,  and  worthy  the  great  poet ; 
the  science  of  it  I  would  not  be  so  willing  to  vouch 
for. 

The  poets,  more  perhaps  than  the  scientists,  have 
illustrated  and  held  by  the  great  law  of  alternation, 
of  ebb  and  flow,  of  turn  and  return,  in  nature.  An 
equilibrium,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  a  straight 
line,  Nature  abhors  more  than  she  does  a  vacuum. 
If  the  moisture  of  the  air  were  uniform,  or  the  heat 
uniform,  that  is,  in  equilibria,  how  could  it  rain? 
what  would  turn  the  scale?  But  these  things  are 
heaped  up,  are  in  waves.  There  is  always  a  prepon- 
derance one  way  or  the  other;  always  "a  steep  in- 
equality." Down  this  incline  the  rain  comes,  and 
up  the  other  side  it  goes.  The  high  barometer  trav- 
els like  the  crest  of  a  sea,  and  the  low  barometer  like 
the  trough.  When  the  scale  kicks  the  beam  in  one 
place,  it  is  correspondingly  depressed  in  some  other. 
When  the  east  is  burning  up,  the  west  is  generally 
drowning  out.  The  weather,  we  say,  is  always  in 


IS   IT   GOING  TO   RAIN?  69 

extremes;  it  never  rains  but  it  pours:  but  this  is 
only  the  abuse  of  a  law  on  the  part  of  the  elements 
which  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  life  and  motion  on 
the  globe. 

The  rain  itself  comes  in  shorter  or  longer  waves, 
—  now  fast,  now  slow  —  and  sometimes  in  regular 
throbs  or  pulse-beats.  The  fall  and  winter  rains 
are,  as  a  rule,  the  most  deliberate  and  general,  but 
the  spring  and  summer  rains  are  always  more  or  less 
impulsive  and  capricious.  One  may  see  the  rain 
stalking  across  the  hills  or  coming  up  the  valley  in 
single  file,  as  it  were.  Another  time  it  moves  in  vast 
masses  or  solid  columns,  with  broad  open  spaces  be- 
tween. I  have  seen  a  spring  snowstorm  lasting 
nearly  all  day  that  swept  down  in  rapid  intermittent 
sheets  or  gusts.  The  waves  or  pulsations  of  the 
storm  were  nearly  vertical  and  .were  very  marked. 
But  the  great  fact  about  the  rain  is  that  it  is  the 
most  beneficent  of  all  the  operations  of  nature ;  more 
immediately  than  sunlight  even,  it  means  life  and 
growth.  Moisture  is  the  Eve  of  the  physical  world 
the  soft  teeming  principle  given  to  wife  to  Adam  or 
heat,  and  the  mother  of  all  that  lives.  Sunshine 
abounds  everywhere,  but  only  where  the  rain  or  dew 
follows  is  there  life.  The  earth  had  the  sun  long 
before  it  had  the  humid  cloud,  and  will  doubtless 
continue  to  have  it  after  the  last  drop  of  moisture 
has  perished  or  been  dissipated.  The  moon  has  sun- 
shine enough,  but  no  rain ;  hence  it  is  a  dead  world 
• — a  lifeless  cinder.  It  is  doubtless  true  that  cer- 
tain of  the  planets,  as  Saturn  and  Jupiter,  have  not 


70        LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

yet  reached  the  condition  of  the  cooling  and  amelio- 
rating rains,  while  in  Mars  vapor  appears  to  be  pre- 
cipitated only  in  the  form  of  snow;  he  is  probably 
past  the  period  of  the  summer  shower.  There 
are  clouds  and  vapors  in  the  sun  itself,  —  clouds  of 
flaming  hydrogen  and  metallic  vapors,  and  a  rain 
every  drop  of  which  is  a  burning  or  molten  meteor. 
Our  earth  itself  has  doubtless  passed  through  the 
period  of  the  fiery  and  consuming  rains.  Mr.  Proc- 
tor thinks  there  may  have  been  a  time  when  its 
showers  were  downpourings  of  "  muriatic,  nitric,  and 
sulphuric  acid,  not  only  intensely  hot,  but  fiercely 
burning  through  their  chemical  activity."  Think 
of  a  dew  that  would  blister  and  destroy  like  the 
oil  of  vitriol!  but  that  period  is  far  behind  us  now. 
When  this  fearful  fever  was  past  and  the  earth  be- 
gan to  "sweat;"  when  these  soft,  delicious  drops 
began  to  come  down,  or  this  impalpable  rain  of  the 
cloudless  nights  to  fall,  —  the  period  of  organic  life 
was  inaugurated.  Then  there  was  hope  and  a  prom- 
ise of  the  future.  The  first  rain  was  the  turning- 
point,  the  spell  was  broken,  relief  was  at  hand. 
Then  the  blazing  furies  of  the  fore  world  began  to 
give  place  to  the  gentler  divinities  of  later  times. 

The  first  water,  —  how  much  it  means !  Seven 
tenths  of  man  himself  is  water.  Seven  tenths  of  the 
human  race  rained  down  but  yesterday !  It  is  much 
more  probable  that  Alexander  will  flow  out  of  a  bung- 
hole  than  that  any  part  of  his  remains  will  ever  stop 
one.  Our  life  is  indeed  a  vapor,  a  breath,  a  little 
moisture  condensed  upon  the  pane.  We  carry  our- 


IS   IT   GOING  TO  RAIN?  71 

selves  as  in  a  phial.  Cleave  the  flesh,  and  how  quickly 
we  spill  out !  Man  begins  as  a  fish,  and  he  swims  in  a 
sea  of  vital  fluids  as  long  as  his  life  lasts.  His  first 
food  is  milk;  so  is  his  last  and  all  between.  He 
can  taste  and  assimilate  and  absorb  nothing  but 
liquids.  The  same  is  true  throughout  all  organic 
nature.  'T  is  water-power  that  makes  every  wheel 
move.  Without  this  great  solvent,  there  is  no  life. 
I  admire  immensely  this  line  of  Walt  Whitman :  — 

"  The  slumbering  and  liquid  trees." 

The  tree  and  its  fruit  are  like  a  sponge  which  the 
rains  have  filled.  Through  them  and  through  all 
living  bodies  there  goes  on  the  commerce  of  vital 
growth,  tiny  vessels,  fleets  and  succession  of  fleets, 
laden  with  material  bound  for  distant  shores,  to 
build  up,  and  repair,  and  restore  the  waste  of  the 
physical  frame. 

Then  the  rain  means  relaxation;  the  tension  in 
Nature  and  in  all  her  creatures  is  lessened.  The 
trees  drop  their  leaves,  or  let  go  their  ripened  fruit. 
The  tree  itself  will  fall  in  a  still,  damp  day,  when 
but  yesterday  it  withstood  a  gale  of  wind.  A  moist 
south  wind  penetrates  even  the  mind  and  makes  its 
grasp  less  tenacious.  It  ought  to  take  less  to  kill  a 
man  on  a  rainy  day  than  on  a  clear.  The  direct 
support  of  the  sun  is  withdrawn;  life  is  under  a 
cloud;  a  masculine  mood  gives  place  to  something 
like  a  feminine.  In  this  sense,  rain  is  the  grief,  the 
weeping  of  Nature,  the  relief  of  a  burdened  or  ago- 
nized heart.  But  tears  from  Nature's  eyelids  are 
always  remedial  and  prepare  the  way  for  brighter, 
purer  skies. 


72  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

I  think  rain  is  as  necessary  to  the  mind  as  to 
vegetation.  Who  does  not  suffer  in  his  spirit  in  a 
drought  and  feel  restless  and  unsatisfied?  My  very 
thoughts  become  thirsty  and  crave  the  moisture.  It 
is  hard  work  to  be  generous,  or  neighborly,  or  patri- 
otic in  a  dry  time,  and  as  for  growing  in  any  of  the 
finer  graces  or  virtues,  who  can  do  it  ?  One's  very 
manhood  shrinks,  and,  if  he  is  ever  capable  of  a  mean 
act  or  of  narrow  views,  it  is  then. 

Oh  the  terrible  drought!  When  the  sky  turns  to 
brass;  when  the  clouds  are  like  withered  leaves; 
when  the  sun  sucks  the  earth's  blood  like  a  vampire; 
when  rivers  shrink,  streams  fail,  springs  perish; 
when  the  grass  whitens  and  crackles  under  your 
feet;  when  the  turf  turns  to  dust;  when  the  fields 
are  like  tinder;  when  the  air  is  the  breath  of  an 
oven;  when  even  the  merciful  dews  are  withheld, 
and  the  morning  is  no  fresher  than  the  evening; 
when  the  friendly  road  is  a  desert,  and  the  green 
woods  like  a  sick-chamber;  when  the  sky  becomes 
tarnished  and  opaque  with  dust  and  smoke;  when 
the  shingles  on  the  houses  curl  up,  the  clapboards 
warp,  the  paint  blisters,  the  joints  open;  when  the 
cattle  rove  disconsolate  and  the  hive-bee  comes  home 
empty ;  when  the  earth  gapes  and  all  nature  looks 
widowed,  and  deserted,  and  heart-broken,  —  in  such 
a  time,  what  thing  that  has  life  does  not  sympathize 
and  suffer  with  the  general  distress? 

The  drought  of  the  summer  and  early  fall  of  1876 
was  one  of  those  severe  stresses  of  weather  that  make 
the  oldest  inhabitant  search  his  memory  for  a  par- 


IS   IT  GOING  TO   RAIN?  73 

allel.  For  nearly  three  months  there  was  no  rain 
to  wet  the  ground.  Large  forest  trees  withered  and 
cast  their  leaves.  In  spots,  the  mountains  looked  as 
if  they  had  been  scorched  by  fire.  The  salt  sea- 
water  came  up  the  Hudson  ninety  miles,  when  ordi- 
narily it  scarcely  comes  forty.  Toward  the  last,  the 
capacity  of  the  atmosphere  to  absorb  and  dissipate 
the  smoke  was  exhausted,  and  innumerable  fires  in 
forests  and  peat-swamps  made  the  days  and  the 
weeks  —  not  blue,  but  a  dirty  yellowish  white. 
There  was  not  enough  moisture  in  the  air  to  take 
the  sting  out  of  the  smoke,  and  it  smarted  the  nose. 
The  sun  was  red  and  dim  even  at  midday,  and  at 
his  rising  and  setting  he  was  as  harmless  to  the  eye 
as  a  crimson  shield  or  a  painted  moon.  The  me- 
teorological conditions  seemed  the  farthest  possible 
remove  from  those  that  produce  rain,  or  even  dew. 
Every  sign  was  negatived.  Some  malevolent  spirit 
seemed  abroad  in  the  air,  that  rendered  abortive 
every  effort  of  the  gentler  divinities  to  send  succor. 
The  clouds  would  gather  back  in  the  mountains,  the 
thunder  would  growl,  the  tall  masses  would  rise  up 
and  advance  threateningly,  then  suddenly  cower, 
their  strength  and  purpose  ooze  away ;  they  flattened 
out;  the  hot,  parched  breath  of  the  earth  smote 
them;  the  dark,  heavy  masses  were  re- resolved  into 
thin  vapor,  and  the  sky  came  through  where  but  a 
few  moments  before  there  had  appeared  to  be  deep 
behind  deep  of  water-logged  clouds.  Sometimes  a 
cloud  would  pass  by,  and  one  could  see  trailing  be- 
neath and  behind  it  a  sheet  of  rain,  like  something 


74  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

let  down  that  did  not  quite  touch  the  earth,  the  hot 
air  vaporizing  the  drops  before  they  reached  the 
ground. 

Two  or  three  times  the  wind  got  in  the  south, 
and  those  low,  dun-colored  clouds  that  are  nothing 
but  harmless  fog  came  hurrying  up  and  covered  the 
sky,  and  city  folk  and  women  folk  said  the  rain  Avas 
at  last  near.  But  the  wise  ones  knew  better.  The 
clouds  had  no  backing,  the  clear  sky  was  just  behind 
them;  they  were  only  the  nightcap  of  the  south 
wind,  which  the  sun  burnt  up  before  ten  o'clock. 

Every  storm  has  a  foundation  that  is  deeply  and 
surely  laid,  and  those  shallow  surface-clouds  that 
have  no  root  in  the  depths  of  the  sky  deceive  none 
but  the  unwary. 

At  other  times,  when  the  clouds  were  not  reab- 
sorbed  by  the  sky  and  rain  seemed  imminent,  they 
would  suddenly  undergo  a  change  that  looked  like 
curdling,  and  when  clouds  do  that  no  rain  need  be 
expected.  Time  and  again  I  saw  their  continuity 
broken  up,  saw  them  separate  into  small  masses,  — 
in  fact  saw  a  process  of  disintegration  and  disorgani- 
zation going  on,  and  my  hope  of  rain  was  over  for 
that  day.  Vast  spaces  would  be  affected  suddenly; 
it  was  like  a  stroke  of  paralysis:  motion  Avas  re- 
tarded, the  breeze  died  down,  the  thunder  ceased, 
and  the  storm  was  blighted  on  the  very  threshold  of 
success. 

I  suppose  there  is  some  compensation  in  a  drought ; 
Nature  doubtless  profits  by  it  in  some  way.  It  is  a 
good  time  to  thin  out  her  garden,  and  give  the  law 


IS   IT   GOING  TO   KA1N?  75 

of  the  survival  of  the  fittest  a  chance  to  come  into 
play.  How  the  big  trees  and  big  plants  do  rob  the 
little  ones!  there  is  not  drink  enough  to  go  around, 
and  the  strongest  will  have  what  there  is.  It  is  a 
rest  to  vegetation}  too,  a  kind  of  torrid  winter  that 
is  followed  by  a  fresh  awakening.  Every  tree  and 
plant  learns  a  lesson  from  it,  learns  to  shoot  its  roots 
down  deep  into  the  perennial  supplies  of  moisture 
and  life. 

But  when  the  rain  does  come,  the  warm,  sun-dis- 
tilled rain;  the  far- traveling,  vapor-born  rain;  the 
impartial,  undiscriminating,  unstinted  rain;  equable, 
bounteous,  myriad-eyed,  searching  out  every  plant 
and  every  spear  of  grass,  finding  every  hidden  thing 
that  needs  water,  falling  upon  the  just  and  upon 
the  unjust,  sponging  off  every  leaf  of  every  tree 
in  the  forest  and  every  growth  in  the  fields;  music 
to  the  ear,  a  perfume  to  the  smell,  an  enchantment  to 
the  eye;  healing  the  earth,  cleansing  the  air,  renew- 
ing the  fountains;  honey  to  the  bee,  manna  to  the 
herds,  and  life  to  all  creatures,  —  what  spectacle  so 
fills  the  heart?  "Rain,  rain,  O  dear  Zeus,  down 
on  the  plowed  fields  of  the  Athenians,  and  on  the 
plains. " 

There  is  a  fine  sibilant  chorus  audible  in  the  sod, 
and  in  the  dust  of  the  road,  and  in  the  porous  plowed 
fields.  Every  grain  of  soil  and  every  root  and  root- 
let purrs  in  satisfaction.  Because  something  more 
than  water  comes  down  when  it  rains;  you  cannot 
produce  this  effect  by  simple  water;  the  good-will 
of  the  elements,  the  consent  and  approbation  of  all 


76  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

the  skyey  influences,  come  down;  the  harmony,  the 
adjustment,  the  perfect  understanding  of  the  soil 
beneath  and  the  air  that  swims  above,  are  implied  in 
the  marvelous  benefaction  of  the  rain.  The  earth 
is  ready;  the  moist  winds  have  wooed  it  and  pre- 
pared it,  the  electrical  conditions  are  as  they  should 
be,  and  there  are  love  and  passion  in  the  surrender 
of  the  summer  clouds.  How  the  drops  are  absorbed 
into  the  ground !  You  cannot,  I  say,  succeed  like 
this  with  your  hose  or  sprinkling-pot.  There  is  no 
ardor  or  electricity  in  the  drops,  no  ammonia,  or 
ozone,  or  other  nameless  properties  borrowed  from 
the  air. 

Then  one  has  not  the  gentleness  and  patience  of 
Nature ;  we  puddle  the  ground  in  our  hurry,  we  seal 
it  up  and  exclude  the  air,  and  the  plants  are  worse 
08  than  before.  When  the  sky  is  overcast  and  it 
is  getting  ready  to  rain,  the  moisture  rises  in  the 
ground,  the  earth  opens  her  pores  and  seconds  the 
desire  of  the  clouds. 

Indeed,  I  have  found  there  is  but  little  virtue  in 
a  sprinkling-pot  after  the  drought  has  reached  a  cer- 
tain pitch.  The  soil  will  not  absorb  the  water.  'T  is 
like  throwing  it  on  a  hot  stove.  I  once  concentrated 
my  efforts  upon  a  single  hill  of  corn  and  deluged  it 
with  water  night  and  morning  for  several  days,  yet 
its  leaves  curled  up  and  the  ears  failed  the  same  as 
the  rest.  Something  may  be  done,  without  doubt, 
if  one  begins  in  time,  but  the  relief  seems  strangely 
inadequate  to  the  means  often  used.  In  rainless 
countries  good  crops  are  produced  by  irrigation,  but 


IS   IT  GOING  TO  RAIN?  77 

here  man  can  imitate  in  a  measure  the  patience  and 
bounty  of  Nature,  and,  with  night  to  aid  him,  can 
make  his  thirsty  fields  drink,  or  rather  can  pour  the 
water  down  their  throats. 

I  have  said  the  rain  is  as  necessary  to  man  as  to 
vegetation.  You  cannot  have  a  rank,  sappy  race, 
like  the  English  or  German,  without  plenty  of  mois- 
ture in  the  air  and  in  the  soil.  Good  viscera  and 
an  abundance  of  blood  are  closely  related  to  meteor- 
ological conditions,  unction  of  character,  and  a  flow 
of  animal  spirits,  too;  and  I  suspect  that  much  of 
the  dry  and  rarefied  humor  of  New  England,  as  well 
as  the  thin  and  sharp  physiognomies,  are  climatic 
results.  We  have  rain  enough,  but  not  equability 
of  temperature  or  moisture,  — no  steady,  abundant 
supply  of  humidity  in  the  air.  In  places  in  Great 
Britain  it  is  said  to  rain  on  an  average  three  days 
out  of  four  the  year  through ;  yet  the  depth  of  rain- 
fall is  no  greater  than  in  this  country,  where  it  rains 
but  the  one  day  out  of  four.  John  Bull  shows  those 
three  rainy  days  both  in  his  temper  and  in  his  bod- 
ily habit;  he  is  better  for  them  in  many  ways,  and 
perhaps  not  quite  so  good  in  a  few  others :  they  make 
him  juicy  and  vascular,  and  maybe  a  little  opaque; 
but  we  in  this  country  could  well  afford  a  few  of 
his  negative  qualities  for  the  sake  of  his  stomach  and 
full-bloodedness. 

We  have  such  faith  in  the  virtue  of  the  rain,  and 
in  the  capacity  of  the  clouds  to  harbor  and  transport 
material  good,  that  we  more  than  half  believe  the 
stories  of  the  strange  and  anomalous  things  that  have 


78  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

fallen  in  showers.  There  is  no  credible  report  that 
it  has  ever  yet  rained  pitchforks,  but  many  other 
curious  things  have  fallen.  Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl, 
and  substances  that  were  neither,  have  been  picked 
up  by  veracious  people  after  a  storm.  Manna,  blood, 
and  honey,  frogs,  newts,  and  fish- worms,  are  among 
the  curious  things  the  clouds  are  supposed  to  yield. 
If  the  clouds  scooped  up  their  water  as  the  flying 
express  train  does,  these  phenomena  could  be  easier 
explained.  I  myself  have  seen  curious  things.  Rid- 
ing along  the  road  one  day  on  the  heels  of  a  vio- 
lent summer  tempest,  I  saw  the  ground  swarming 
with  minute  hopping  creatures.  I  got  out  and  cap- 
tured my  hands  full.  They  proved  to  be  tree-toads, 
many  of  them  no  larger  than  crickets,  and  none  of 
them  larger  than  a  bumblebee.  There  seemed  to 
be  thousands  of  them.  The  mark  of  the  tree-toad 
was  the  round,  flattened  ends  of  their  toes.  I  took 
some  of  them  home,  but  they  died  the  next  day. 
Where  did  they  come  from  ?  I  imagined  the  violent 
wind  swept  them  off  the  trees  in  the  woods  to  wind- 
ward of  the  road.  But  this  is  only  a  guess;  maybe 
they  crept  out  of  the  ground,  or  from  under  the  wall 
near  by,  and  were  out  to  wet  their  jackets. 

I  have  never  yet  heard  of  a  frog  coming  down 
chimney  in  a  shower.  Some  circumstantial  evi- 
dence may  be  pretty  conclusive,  Thoreau  says,  as 
when  you  find  a  trout  in  the  milk;  and  if  you  find 
a  frog  or  toad  behind  the  fire-board  immediately 
after  a  shower,  you  may  well  ask  him  to  explain 
himself. 


IS   IT   GOING  TO   EAIN  ?  79 

When  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  wonder  if  the  clouds 
•were  hollow  and  carried  their  water  as  in  a  cask,  be- 
cause had  we  not  often  heard  of  clouds  bursting  and 
producing  havoc  and  ruin  beneath  them  ?  The  hoops 
gave  way,  perhaps,  or  the  head  was  pressed  out. 
Goethe  says  that  when  the  barometer  rises,  the  clouds 
are  spun  off  from  the  top  downward  like  a  distaff  of 
flax;  but  this  is  more  truly  the  process  when  it 
rains.  When  fair  weather  is  in  the  ascendant,  the 
clouds  are  simply  reabsorbed  by  the  air;  but  when 
it  rains  they  are  spun  off  into  something  more  com- 
pact: 'tis  like  the  threads  that  issue  from  the  mass 
of  flax  or  roll  of  wool,  only  here  there  are  innumer- 
able threads  and  the  fingers  that  hold  them  never 
tire.  The  great  spinning-wheel,  too,  what  a  hum- 
ming it  makes  at  times,  and  how  the  footsteps  of 
the  invisible  spinner  resound  through  the  cloud-pil- 
lared chambers! 

The  clouds  are  thus  literally  spun  up  into  water; 
and  were  they  not  constantly  recruited  from  the  at- 
mosphere as  the  storm-centre  travels  along,  —  was 
new  wool  not  forthcoming  from  the  white  sheep  and 
the  black  sheep  that  the  winds  herd  at  every  point, 
—  all  rains  would  be  brief  and  local;  the  storm 
would  quickly  exhaust  itself,  as  we  sometimes  see  a 
thunder-cloud  do  in  summer.  A  storm  will  originate 
in  the  far  West  or  Southwest  —  those  hatching- 
places  of  all  our  storms  —  and  travel  across  the  con- 
tinent, and  across  the  Atlantic  to  Europe,  pouring 
down  incalculable  quantities  of  rain  as  it  progresses 
and  recruiting  as  it  wastes.  It  is  a  moving  vortex 


80  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

into  which  the  outlying  moisture  of  the  atmosphere 
is  being  constantly  drawn  and  precipitated.  It  is 
not  properly  the  storm  that  travels,  but  the  low 
pressure,  the  storm  impulse,  the  meteorological  mag- 
net that  makes  the  storm  wherever  its  presence  may 
be.  The  clouds  are  not  watering-carts,  that  are 
driven  all  the  way  from  Arizona  or  Colorado  to  Eu- 
rope, but  growths,  developments  that  spring  up  as 
the  Storm-deity  moves  his  wand  across  the  land. 
In  advance  of  the  storm,  you  may  often  see  the 
clouds  grow;  the  condensation  of  the  moisture  into 
vapor  is  a  visible  process;  slender,  spiculae-like  clouds 
expand,  deepen,  and  lengthen ;  in  the  rear  of  the  low 
pressure,  the  reverse  process,  or  the  wasting  of  the 
clouds,  may  be  witnessed.  In  summer,  the  recruit- 
ing of  a  thunder-storm  is  often  very  marked.  I 
have  seen  the  clouds  file  as  straight  across  the  sky 
toward  a  growing  storm  or  thunder-head  in  the  hori- 
zon as  soldiers  hastening  to  the  point  of  attack  or 
defense.  They  would  grow  more  and  more  black 
and  threatening  as  they  advanced,  and  actually 
seemed  to  be  driven  by  more  urgent  winds  than  cer- 
tain other  clouds.  They  were,  no  doubt,  more  in 
the  line  of  the  storm  influence. 

All  our  general  storms  are  cyclonic  in  their  char- 
acter, that  is,  rotary  and  progressive.  Their  type 
may  be  seen  in  every  little  whirlpool  that  goes  down 
the  swollen  current  of  the  river;  and  in  our  hemi- 
sphere they  revolve  in  the  same  direction,  namely, 
from  right  to  left,  or  in  opposition  to  the  hands  of 
a  watch.  When  the  water  finds  an  outlet  through 


IS  IT   GOING  TO  RAIN?  81 

the  bottom  of  a  dam,  a  suction  or  whirling  vortex  is 
developed  that  generally  goes  round  in  the  same 
direction.  A  morning-glory  or  a  hop-vine  or  a 
pole-bean  winds  around  its  support  in  the  same 
course,  and  cannot  be  made  to  wind  in  any  other. 
I  am  aware  there  are  some  perverse  climbers  among 
the  plants  that  persist  in  going  around  the  pole 
in  the  other  direction.  In  the  southern  hemi- 
sphere the  cyclone  revolves  in  the  other  direction, 
or  from  left  to  right.  How  do  they  revolve  at  the 
equator,  then?  They  do  not  revolve  at  all.  This 
is  the  point  of  zero,  and  cyclones  are  never  formed 
nearer  than  the  third  parallel  of  latitude.  Whether 
hop-vines  also  refuse  to  wind  about  the  pole  there 
I  am  unable  to  say. 

All  our  cyclones  originate  in  the  far  Southwest 
and  travel  northeast.  Why  did  we  wait  for  the 
Weather  Bureau  to  tell  us  this  fact?  Do  not  all 
the  filmy,  hazy,  cirrus  and  cirro-stratus  clouds  first 
appear  from  the  general  direction  of  the  sunset? 
Who  ever  saw  them  pushing  their  opaque  filaments 
over  the  sky  from  the  east  or  north?  Yet  do  we 
not  have  "  northeasters  "  both  winter  and  summer  ? 
True,  but  the  storm  does  not  come  from  that  direc- 
tion. In  such  a  case  we  get  that  segment  of  the 
cyclonic  whirl.  A  northeaster  in  one  place  may  be 
an  easter,  a  norther,  or  a  souther  in  some  other  lo- 
cality. See  through  those  drifting,  drenching  clouds 
that  come  hurrying  out  of  the  northeast,  and  there 
are  the  boss-clouds  above  them,  the  great  captains 
themselves,  moving  serenely  on  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection. 


82        LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

Electricity  is,  of  course,  an  important  agent  in 
storms.  It  is  the  great  organizer  and  ring-master. 
How  a  clap  of  thunder  will  shake  down  the  rain ! 
It  gives  the  clouds  a  smart  rap;  it  jostles  the  vapor 
so  that  the  particles  fall  together  more  quickly;  it 
makes  the  drops  let  go  in  double  and  treble  ranks. 
Nature  likes  to  be  helped  in  that  way,  — likes  to 
have  the  water  agitated  when  she  is  freezing  it  or 
heating  it,  and  the  clouds  smitten  when  she  is  com- 
pressing them  into  rain.  So  does  a  shock  of  sur- 
prise quicken  the  pulse  in  man,  and  in  the  crisis  of 
action  help  him  to  a  decision. 

What  a  spur  and  impulse  the  summer  shower  is ! 
How  its  coming  quickens  and  hurries  up  the  slow, 
jogging  country  life !  The  traveler  along  the  dusty 
road  arouses  from  his  reverie  at  the  warning  rumble 
behind  the  hills;  the  children  hasten  from  the  field 
or  from  the  school;  the  farmer  steps  lively  and 
thinks  fast.  In  the  hay-field,  at  the  first  signal-gun 
of  the  elements,  what  a  commotion !  How  the  horse- 
rake  rattles,  how  the  pitchforks  fly,  how  the  white 
sleeves  play  and  twinkle  in  the  sun  or  against  the 
dark  background  of  the  coming  storm!  One  man 
does  the  work  of  two  or  three.  It  is  a  race  with  the 
elements,  and  the  hay-makers  do  not  like  to  be 
beaten.  The  rain  that  is  life  to  the  grass  when 
growing  is  poison  to  it  after  it  becomes  cured  hay, 
and  it  must  be  got  under  shelter,  or  put  up  into 
snug  cocks,  if  possible,  before  the  storm  overtakes  it. 

The  rains  of  winter  are  cold  and  odorless.  One 
prefers  the  snow,  which  warms  and  covers;  but  can 


IS  IT  GOING   TO   EAIN?  83 

there  be  anything  more  delicious  than  the  first  warm 
April  rain,  —  the  first  offering  of  the  softened  and 
pacified  clouds  of  spring?  The  weather  has  been 
dry,  perhaps,  for  two  or  three  weeks;  we  have 
had  a  touch  of  the  dreaded  drought  thus  early;  the 
roads  are  dusty,  the  streams  again  shrunken,  and 
forest  fires  send  up  columns  of  smoke  on  every 
hand ;  the  frost  has  all  been  out  of  the  ground  many 
days;  the  snow  has  all  disappeared  from  the  moun- 
tains ;  the  sun  is  warm,  but  the  grass  does  not  grow, 
nor  the  early  seeds  come  up.  The  quickening  spirit 
of  the  rain  is  needed.  Presently  the  wind  gets  in 
the  southwest,  and,  late  in  the  day,  we  have  our  first 
vernal  shower,  gentle  and  leisurely,  but  every  drop 
condensed  from  warm  tropic  vapors  and  charged 
with  the  very  essence  of  spring.  Then  what  a  per- 
fume fills  the  air!  One's  nostrils  are  not  half  large 
enough  to  take  it  in.  The  smoke,  washed  by  the 
rain,  becomes  the  breath  of  woods,  and  the  soil  and 
the  newly  plowed  fields  give  out  an  odor  that  dilates 
the  sense.  How  the  buds  of  the  trees  swell,  how 
the  grass  greens,  how  the  birds  rejoice !  Hear  the 
robins  laugh !  This  will  bring  out  the  worms  and 
the  insects,  and  start  the  foliage  of  the  trees.  A 
summer  shower  has  more  copiousness  and  power, 
but  this  has  the  charm  of  freshness  and  of  all  first 
things. 

The  laws  of  storms,  up  to  a  certain  point,  have 
come  to  be  pretty  well  understood,  but  there  is  yet 
no  science  of  the  weather,  any  more  than  there  is  of 
human  nature.  There  is  about  as  much  room  for 


84  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD  HONEY 

speculation  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other.  The 
causes  and  agencies  are  subtle  and  obscure,  and  we 
shall,  perhaps,  have  the  metaphysics  of  the  subject 
before  we  have  the  physics. 

But  as  there  are  persons  who  can  read  human 
nature  pretty  well,  so  there  are  those  who  can  read 
the  weather. 

It  is  a  masculine  subject,  and  quite  beyond  the 
province  of  woman.  Ask  those  who  spend  their 
time  in  the  open  air,  —  the  farmer,  the  sailor,  the 
soldier,  the  walker;  ask  the  birds,  the  beasts,  the 
tree-toads:  they  know,  if  they  will  only  tell.  The 
farmer  diagnoses  the  weather  daily,  as  the  doctor  a 
patient:  he  feels  the  pulse  of  the  wind;  he  knows 
when  the  clouds  have  a  scurfy  tongue,  or  when  the 
cuticle  of  the  day  is  feverish  and  dry,  or  soft  and 
moist.  Certain  days  he  calls  "weather-breeders," 
and  they  are  usually  the  fairest  days  in  the  calendar, 
—  all  sun  and  sky.  They  are  too  fair;  they  are 
suspiciously  so.  They  come  in  the  fall  and  spring, 
and  always  mean  mischief.  When  a  day  of  almost 
unnatural  brightness  and  clearness  in  either  of  these 
seasons  follows  immediately  after  a  storm,  it  is  a 
sure  indication  that  another  storm  follows  close,  — 
follows  to-morrow.  In  keeping  with  this  fact  is  the 
rule  of  the  barometer,  that,  if  the  mercury  siiddenly 
rises  very  high,  the  fair  weather  will  not  last.  It 
is  a  high  peak  that  indicates  a  corresponding  depres- 
sion close  at  hand.  I  observed  one  of  these  angelic 
mischief-makers  during  the  past  October.  The  sec- 
ond day  after  a  heavy  fall  of  rain  was  the  fairest  of 


IS  IT  GOING  TO  BAIN?  85 

the  fair,  —  not  a  speck  or  film  in  all  the  round  of  the 
sky.  Where  have  all  the  clouds  and  vapors  gone 
to  so  suddenly  1  was  my  mute  inquiry,  J?ut  I  sus- 
pected they  were  plotting  together  somewhere  behind 
the  horizon.  The  sky  was  a  deep  ultramarine  blue; 
the  air  so  transparent  that  distant  objects  seemed 
near,  and  the  afternoon  shadows  were  sharp  and 
clear.  At  night  the  stars  were  unusually  numerous 
and  bright  (a  sure  sign  of  an  approaching  storm). 
The  sky  was  laid  bare,  as  the  tidal  wave  empties  the 
shore  of  its  water  before  it  heaps  it  up  upon  it.  A 
violent  storm  of  wind  and  rain  the  next  day  followed 
this  delusive  brightness.  So  the  weather,  like  hu- 
man nature,  may  be  suspiciously  transparent.  A 
saintly  day  may  undo  you.  A  few  clouds  do  not 
mean  rain;  but  when  there  are  absolutely  none, 
when  even  the  haze  and  filmy  vapors  are  suppressed 
or  held  back,  then  beware. 

Then  the  weather-wise  know  there  are  two  kinds 
of  clouds,  rain-clouds  and  wind-clouds,  and  that  the 
latter  are  always  the  most  portentous.  In  summer 
they  are  black  as  night;  they  look  as  if  they  would 
blot  out  the  very  earth.  They  raise  a  great  dust, 
and  set  things  flying  and  slamming  for  a  moment, 
and  that  is  all.  They  are  the  veritable  wind-bags 
of  JSolus.  There  is  something  in  the  look  of  rain- 
clouds  that  is  unmistakable,  —  a  firm,  gray,  tightly 
woven  look  that  makes  you  remember  your  umbrella. 
Not  too  high  nor  too  low,  not  black  nor  blue,  but 
the  form  and  hue  of  wet,  unbleached  linen.  You 
see  the  river  water  in  them;  they  are  heavy-laden, 


86  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

and  move  slow.  Sometimes  they  develop  what  are 
called  "  mares'  tails, "  —  small  cloud-forms  here  and 
there  against  a  heavy  background,  that  look  like  the 
stroke  of  a  hrush,  or  the  streaming  tail  of  a  charger. 
Sometimes  a  few  under-clouds  will  be  combed  and 
groomed  by  the  winds  or  other  meteoric  agencies  at 
work,  as  if  for  a  race.  I  have  seen  coming  storms 
develop  well-defined  vertebrae,  —  a  long  backbone  of 
cloud,  with  the  articulations  and  processes  clearly 
marked.  Any  of  these  forms,  changing,  growing, 
denote  rain,  because  they  show  unusual  agencies  at 
work.  The  storm  is  brewing  and  fermenting.  "See 
those  cowlicks,"  said  an  old  farmer,  pointing  to 
certain  patches  on  the  clouds;  "they  mean  rain." 
Another  time,  he  said  the  clouds  were  "making 
bag,"  had  growing  udders,  and  that  it  would  rain 
before  night,  as  it  did.  This  reminded  me  that 
the  Orientals  speak  of  the  clouds  as  cows  which  the 
winds  herd  and  milk. 

In  the  winter,  we  see  the  sun  wading  in  snow. 
The  morning  has  perhaps  been  clear,  but  in  the  after- 
noon a  bank  of  gray  filmy  or  cirrus  cloud  meets  him 
in  the  west,  and  he  sinks  deeper  and  deeper  into  it, 
till,  at  his  going  down,  his  muffled  beams  are  entirely 
hidden.  Then,  on  the  morrow,  not 

"  Announced  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky," 
but  silent  as  night,  the  white  legions  are  here. 

The  old  signs  seldom  fail,  —  a  red  and  angry  sun- 
rise, or  flushed  clouds  at  evening.  Many  a  hope  of 
rain  have  I  seen  dashed  by  a  painted  sky  at  sunset. 
There  is  truth  in  the  old  couplet,  too :  — 


IS  IT   GOING  TO   EAIN?  87 

"  If  it  rams  before  seven, 
It  will  clear  before  eleven." 

An  old  Indian  had  a  sign  for  winter:  "If  the 
wind  blows  the  snow  off  the  trees,  the  next  storm 
will  be  snow;  if  it  rains  off,  the  next  storm  will 
be  rain." 

Morning  rains  are  usually  short-lived.  Better 
wait  till  ten  o'clock. 

When  the  clouds  are  chilled,  they  turn  blue  and 
rise  up. 

When  the  fog  leaves  the  mountains,  reaching 
upward,  as  if  afraid  of  being  left  behind,  the  fair 
weather  is  near. 

Shoddy  clouds  are  of  little  account,  and  soon  fall 
to  pieces.  Have  your  clouds  show  a  good  strong 
fibre,  and  have  them  lined,  —  not  with  silver,  but 
with  other  clouds  of  a  finer  texture,  — and  have 
them  wadded.  It  wants  two  or  three  thicknesses  to 
get  up  a  good  rain.  Especially,  unless  you  have 
that  cloud-mother,  that  dim,  filmy,  nebulous  mass 
that  has  its  root  in  the  higher  regions  of  the  air,  and 
is  the  source  and  backing  of  all  storms,  your  rain 
will  be  light  indeed. 

I  fear  my  reader's  jacket  is  not  thoroughly  soaked 
yet.  I  must  give  him  a  final  dash,  a  "  clear-up " 
shower. 

We  were  encamping  in  the  primitive  woods,  by  a 
little  trout-lake  which  the  mountain  carried  high  on 
his  hip,  like  a  soldier's  canteen.  There  were  wives 
in  the  party,  curious  to  know  what  the  lure  was  that 
annually  drew  their  husbands  to  the  woods.  That 


88  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

magical  writing  on  a  trout's  back  they  would  fain 
decipher,  little  heeding  the  warning  that  what  is 
written  here  is  not  given  to  woman  to  know. 

Our  only  tent  or  roof  was  the  sheltering  arms  of 
the  great  birches  and  maples.  What  was  sauce  for 
the  gander  should  be  sauce  for  the  goose,  too,  so  the 
goose  insisted. 

A  luxurious  couch  of  boughs  upon  springing  poles 
was  prepared,  and  the  night  should  be  not  less  wel- 
come than  the  day,  which  had  indeed  been  idyllic. 
(A  trout  dinner  had  been  served  by  a  little  spring 
brook,  upon  an  improvised  table  covered  with  moss 
and  decked  with  ferns,  with  strawberries  from  a 
near  clearing.) 

At  twilight  there  was  an  ominous  rumble  behind 
the  mountains.  I  was  on  the  lake,  and  could  see 
what  was  brewing  there  in  the  west. 

As  darkness  came  on,  the  rumbling  increased,  and 
the  mountains  and  the  woods  and  the  still  air  were 
such  good  conductors  of  sound  that  the  ear  was  viv- 
idly impressed.  One  seemed  to  feel  the  enormous 
convolutions  of  the  clouds  in  the  deep  and  jarring 
tones  of  the  thunder.  The  coming  of  night  in  the 
woods  is  alone  peculiarly  impressive,  and  it  is  doubly 
so  when  out  of  the  darkness  comes  such  a  voice  as 
this.  But  we  fed  the  fire  the  more  industriously, 
and  piled  the  logs  high,  and  kept  the  gathering 
gloom  at  bay  by  as  large  a  circle  of  light  as  we  could 
command.  The  lake  was  a  pool  of  ink  and  as  still 
as  if  congealed;  not  a  movement  or  a  sound,  save 
now  and  then  a  terrific  volley  from  the  cloud  bat- 


IS   IT  GOING  TO  RAIN?  89 

teries  now  fast  approaching.  By  nine  o'clock  little 
puffs  of  wind  began  to  steal  through  the  woods  and 
tease  and  toy  with  our  fire.  Shortly  after,  an  enor- 
mous electric  bomhshell  exploded  in  the  treetops 
over  our  heads,  and  the  ball  was  fairly  opened. 
Then  followed  three  hours,  with  only  two  brief  in- 
termissions, of  as  lively  elemental  music  and  as  co- 
pious an  outpouring  of  rain  as  it  was  ever  my  lot  to 
witness.  It  was  a  regular  meteorological  carnival, 
and  the  revelers  were  drunk  with  the  wild  sport. 
The  apparent  nearness  of  the  clouds  and  the  electric 
explosion  was  something  remarkable.  Every  dis- 
charge seemed  to  be  in  the  branches  immediately 
overhead  and  made  us  involuntarily  cower,  as  if 
the  next  moment  the  great  limbs  of  the  trees,  or  the 
trees  themselves,  would  come  crashing  down.  The 
mountain  upon  which  we  were  encamped  appeared  to 
be  the  focus  of  three  distinct  but  converging  storms. 
The  last  two  seemed  to  come  into  collision  immedi- 
ately over  our  camp-fire,  and  to  contend  for  the  right 
of  way,  until  the  heavens  were  ready  to  fall  and  both 
antagonists  were  literally  spent.  We  stood  in  groups 
about  the  struggling  fire,  and  when  the  cannonade 
became  too  terrible  would  withdraw  into  the  cover 
of  the  darkness,  as  if  to  be  a  less  conspicuous  mark 
for  the  bolts;  or  did  we  fear  the  fire,  with  its  cur- 
rents, might  attract  the  lightning?  At  any  rate, 
some  other  spot  than  the  one  where  we  happened  to 
be  standing  seemed  desirable  when  those  onsets  of  the 
contending  elements  were  the  most  furious.  Some- 
thing that  one  could  not  catch  in  his  hat  was  liable 


90  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

to  drop  almost  anywhere  any  minute.  The  alarm 
and  consternation  of  the  wives  communicated  itself 
to  the  husbands,  and  they  looked  solemn  and  con- 
cerned. The  air  was  filled  with  falling  water.  The 
sound  upon  the  myriad  leaves  and  branches  was  like 
the  roar  of  a  cataract.  We  put  our  backs  up  against 
the  great  trees,  only  to  catch  a  brook  on  our  shoul- 
ders or  in  the  backs  of  our  necks.  Still  the  storm 
waxed.  The  fire  was  beaten  down  lower  and  lower. 
It  surrendered  one  post  after  another,  like  a  besieged 
city,  and  finally  made  only  a  feeble  resistance  from 
beneath  a  pile  of  charred  logs  and  branches  in  the 
centre.  Our  garments  yielded  to  the  encroachments 
of  the  rain  in  about  the  same  manner.  I  believe 
my  necktie  held  out  the  longest,  and  carried  a  few 
dry  threads  safely  through.  Our  cunningly  devised 
and  bedecked  table,  which  the  housekeepers  had  so 
doted  on  and  which  was  ready  spread  for  breakfast, 
was  washed  as  by  the  hose  of  a  fire-engine,  —  only 
the  bare  poles  remained,  —  and  the  couch  of  spring- 
ing boughs,  that  was  to  make  Sleep  jealous  and  o'er- 
f ond,  became  a  bed  fit  only  for  amphibians.  Still 
the  loosened  floods  came  down;  still  the  great  cloud- 
mortars  bellowed  and  exploded  their  missiles  in 
the  treetops  above  us.  But  all  nervousness  finally 
passed  away,  and  we  became  dogged  and  resigned. 
Our  minds  became  water- soaked;  our  thoughts  were 
heavy  and  bedraggled.  We  were  past  the  point  of 
joking  at  one  another's  expense.  The  witticisms 
failed  to  kindle,  —  indeed,  failed  to  go,  like  the 
matches  in  our  pockets.  About  midnight  the  rain 


IS   IT   GOING  TO  KAIN?  91 

slackened,  and  by  one  o'clock  ceased  entirely.  How 
the  rest  of  the  night  was  passed  beneath  the  drip- 
ping trees  and  upon  the  saturated  ground,  I  have  only 
the  dimmest  remembrance.  All  is  watery  and  opaque ; 
the  fog  settles  down  and  obscures  the  scene.  But  I 
suspect  I  tried  the  "  wet  pack  "  without  being  a  con- 
vert to  hydropathy.  When  the  morning  dawned, 
the  wives  begged  to  be  taken  home,  convinced  that 
the  charms  of  camping-out  were  greatly  overrated. 
We,  who  had  tasted  this  cup  before,  knew  they  had 
read  at  least  a  part  of  the  legend  of  the  wary  trout 
without  knowing  it. 


SPECKLED   TROUT 


rpHE  legend  of  the  wary  trout,  hinted  at  in  the 
last  sketch,  is  to  be  further  illustrated  in  this 
and  some  following  chapters.  We  shall  get  at  more 
of  the  meaning  of  those  dark  water-lines,  and  I 
hope,  also,  not  entirely  miss  the  significance  of  the 
gold  and  silver  spots  and  the  glancing  iridescent 
hues.  The  trout  is  dark  and  obscure  above,  but 
behind  this  foil  there  are  wondrous  tints  that  reward 
the  believing  eye.  Those  who  seek  him  in  his  wild 
remote  haunts  are  quite  sure  to  get  the  full  force  of 
the  sombre  and  uninviting  aspects,  —  the  wet,  the 
cold,  the  toil,  the  broken  rest,  and  the  huge,  savage, 
uncompromising  nature,  etc.,  — but  the  true  angler 
sees  farther  than  these,  and  is  never  thwarted  of  his 
legitimate  reward  by  them. 

I  have  been  a  seeker  of  trout  from  my  boyhood, 
and  on  all  the  expeditions  in  which  this  fish  has 
been  the  ostensible  purpose  I  have  brought  home 
more  game  than  my  creel  showed.  In  fact,  in  my 
mature  years  I  find  I  got  more  of  nature  into  me, 
more  of  the  woods,  the  wild,  nearer  to  bird  and 
beast,  while  threading  my  native  streams  for  trout, 


94  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

than  in  almost  any  other  way.  It  furnished  a  good 
excuse  to  go  forth;  it  pitched  one  in  the  right  key; 
it  sent  one  through  the  fat  and  marrowy  places  of 
field  and  wood.  Then  the  fisherman  has  a  harmless, 
preoccupied  look ;  he  is  a  kind  of  vagrant  that  no- 
thing fears.  He  blends  himself  with  the  trees  and 
the  shadows.  All  his  approaches  are  gentle  and  in- 
direct. He  times  himself  to  the  meandering,  solilo- 
quizing stream;  its  impulse  bears  him  along.  At 
the  foot  of  the  waterfall  he  sits  sequestered  and 
hidden  in  its  volume  of  sound.  The  birds  know  he 
has  no  designs  upon  them,  and  the  animals  see  that 
his  mind  is  in  the  creek.  His  enthusiasm  anneals 
him  and  makes  him  pliable  to  the  scenes  and  influ- 
ences he  moves  among. 

Then  what  acquaintance  he  makes  with  the  stream ! 
He  addresses  himself  to  it  as  a  lover  to  his  mistress; 
he  wooes  it  and  stays  with  it  till  he  knows  its  most 
hidden  secrets.  It  runs  through  his  thoughts  not 
less  than  through  its  banks  there;  he  feels  the  fret 
and  thrust  of  every  bar  and  bowlder.  Where  it 
deepens,  his  purpose  deepens ;  where  it  is  shallow  he 
is  indifferent.  He  knows  how  to  interpret  its  every 
glance  and  dimple;  its  beauty  haunts  him  for  days. 

I  am  sure  I  run  no  risk  of  overpraising  the  charm 
and  attractiveness  of  a  well-fed  trout  stream,  every 
drop  of  water  in  it  as  bright  and  pure  as  if  the 
nymphs  had  brought  it  all  the  way  from  its  source 
in  crystal  goblets,  and  as  cool  as  if  it  had  been 
hatched  beneath  a  glacier.  When  the  heated  and 
soiled  and  jaded  refugee  from  the  city  first  sees  one, 


SPECKLED  TROUT  95 

he  feels  as  if  he  would  like  to  turn  it  into  his  bosom 
and  let  it  flow  through  him  a  few  hours,  it  suggests 
such  healing  freshness  and  newness.  How  his  roily 
thoughts  would  run  clear;  how  the  sediment  would 
go  down-stream!  Could  he  ever  have  an  impure  or 
an  unwholesome  wish  afterward?  The  next  best 
thing  he  can  do  is  to  tramp  along  its  banks  and 
surrender  himself  to  its  influence.  If  he  reads  it 
intently  enough,  he  will,  in  a  measure,  be  taking  it 
into  his  mind  and  heart,  and  experiencing  its  salu- 
tary ministrations. 

Trout  streams  coursed  through  every  valley  my 
boyhood  knew.  I  crossed  them,  and  was  often 
lured  and  detained  by  them,  on  my  way  to  and  from 
school.  We  bathed  in  them  during  the  long  sum- 
mer noons,  and  felt  for  the  trout  under  their  banks. 
A  holiday  was  a  holiday  indeed  that  brought  permis- 
sion to  go  fishing  over  on  Eose's  Brook,  or  up  Hard- 
scrabble,  or  in  Meeker 's  Hollow;  all-day  trips,  from 
morning  till  night,  through  meadows  and  pastures 
and  beechen  woods,  wherever  the  shy,  limpid  stream 
led.  What  an  appetite  it  developed!  a  hunger  that 
was  fierce  and  aboriginal,  and  that  the  wild  straw- 
berries we  plucked  as  we  crossed  the  hill  teased 
rather  than  allayed.  When  but  a  few  hours  could 
be  had,  gained  perhaps  by  doing  some  piece  of  work 
about  the  farm  or  garden  in  half  the  allotted  time, 
the  little  creek  that  headed  in  the  paternal  domain 
was  handy;  when  half  a  day  was  at  one's  disposal, 
there  were  the  hemlocks,  less  than  a  mile  distant, 
with  their  loitering,  meditative,  log-impeded  stream 


96  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

and  their  dusky,  fragrant  depths.  Alert  and  wide- 
eyed,  one  picked  his  way  along,  startled  now  and 
then  by  the  sudden  hursting-up  of  the  partridge,  or 
by  the  whistling  wings  of  the  "  dropping  snipe, "  press- 
ing through  the  brush  and  the  briers,  or  finding  an 
easy  passage  over  the  trunk  of  a  prostrate  tree,  care- 
fully letting  his  hook  down  through  some  tangle  into 
a  still  pool,  or  standing  in  some  high  sombre  avenue 
and  watching  his  line  float  in  and  out  amid  the  moss- 
covered  bowlders.  In  my  first  essayings  I  used  to 
go  to  the  edge  of  these  hemlocks,  seldom  dipping 
into  them  beyond  the  first  pool  where  the  stream 
swept  under  the  roots  of  two  large  trees.  From  this 
point  I  could  look  back  into  the  sunlit  fields  where 
the  cattle  were  grazing;  beyond,  all  was  gloom  and 
mystery;  the  trout  were  black,  and  to  my  young 
imagination  the  silence  and  the  shadows  were  blacker. 
But  gradually  I  yielded  to  the  fascination  and  pene- 
trated the  woods  farther  and  farther  on  each  expedi- 
tion, till  the  heart  of  the  mystery  was  fairly  plucked 
out.  During  the  second  or  third  year  of  my  pisca- 
torial experience  I  went  through  them,  and  through 
the  pasture  and  meadow  beyond,  and  through  an- 
other strip  of  hemlocks,  to  where  the  little  stream 
joined  the  main  creek  of  the  valley. 

In  June,  when  my  trout  fever  ran  pretty  high, 
and  an  auspicious  day  arrived,  I  would  make  a  trip 
to  a  stream  a  couple  of  miles  distant,  that  came  down 
out  of  a  comparatively  new  settlement.  It  was  a 
rapid  mountain  brook  presenting  many  difficult  prob- 
lems to  the  young  angler,  but  a  very  enticing  stream 


SPECKLED   TEOUT  97 

for  all  that,  with  its  two  saw-mill  dams,  its  pretty 
cascades,  its  high,  shelving  rocks  sheltering  the 
mossy  nests  of  the  phoebe-hird,  and  its  general  wild 
and  forbidding  aspects. 

But  a  meadow  brook  was  always  a  favorite.  The 
trout  like  meadows;  doubtless  their  food  is  more 
abundant  there,  and,  usually,  the  good  hiding-places 
are  more  numerous.  As  soon  as  you  strike  a  meadow 
the  character  of  the  creek  changes:  it  goes  slower 
and  lies  deeper;  it  tarries  to  enjoy  the  high,  cool 
banks  and  to  half  hide  beneath  them;  it  loves  the 
willows,  or  rather  the  willows  love  it  and  shelter  it 
from  the  sun;  its  spring  runs  are  kept  cool  by  the 
overhanging  grass,  and  the  heavy  turf  that  faces  its 
open  banks  is  not  cut  away  by  the  sharp  hoofs  of 
the  grazing  cattle.  Then  there  are  the  bobolinks 
and  starlings  and  meadowlarks,  always  interested 
spectators  of  the  angler;  there  are  also  the  marsh 
marigolds,  the  buttercups,  or  the  spotted  lilies,  and 
the  good  angler  is  always  an  interested  spectator  of 
them.  In  fact,  the  patches  of  meadow  land  that  lie 
in  the  angler's  course  are  like  the  happy  experiences 
in  his  own  life,  or  like  the  fine  passages  in  the  poem 
he  is  reading;  the  pasture  oftener  contains  the  shal- 
low and  monotonous  places.  In  the  small  streams 
the  cattle  scare  the  fish,  and  soil  their  element  and 
break  down  their  retreats  under  the  banks.  Wood- 
land alternates  the  best  with  meadow:  the  creek 
loves  to  burrow  under  the  roots  of  a  great  tree,  to 
scoop  out  a  pool  after  leaping  over  the  prostrate  trunk 
of  one,  and  to  pause  at  the  foot  of  a  ledge  of  moss- 


98        LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

covered  rocks,  with  ice-cold  water  dripping  down. 
How  straight  the  current  goes  for  the  rock !  Note 
its  corrugated,  muscular  appearance;  it  strikes  and 
glances  off,  but  accumulates,  deepens  with  well- 
defined  eddies  above  and  to  one  side;  on  the  edge 
of  these  the  trout  lurk  and  spring  upon  their  prey. 

The  angler  learns  that  it  is  generally  some  obstacle 
or  hindrance  that  makes  a  deep  place  in  the  creek, 
as  in  a  brave  life;  and  his  ideal  brook  is  one  that  lies 
in  deep,  well-defined  banks,  yet  makes  many  a  shift 
from  right  to  left,  meets  with  many  rebuffs  and  ad- 
ventures, hurled  back  upon  itself  by  rocks,  waylaid 
by  snags  and  trees,  tripped  up  by  precipices,  but 
sooner  or  later  reposing  under  meadow  banks,  deep- 
ening and  eddying  beneath  bridges,  or  prosperous 
and  strong  in  some  level  stretch  of  cultivated  land 
with  great  elms  shading  it  here  and  there. 

But  I  early  learned  that  from  almost  any  stream 
in  a  trout  country  the  true  angler  could  take  trout, 
and  that  the  great  secret  was  this,  that,  whatever  bait 
you  used,  worm,  grasshopper,  grub,  or  fly,  there  was 
one  thing  you  must  always  put  upon  your  hook, 
namely,  your  heart:  when  you  bait  your  hook  with 
your  heart  the  fish  always  bite;  they  will  jump  clear 
from  the  water  after  it;  they  will  dispute  with  each 
other  over  it;  it  is  a  morsel  they  love  above  every- 
thing else.  With  such  bait  I  have  seen  the  born 
angler  (my  grandfather  was  one)  take  a  noble  string 
of  trout  from  the  most  unpromising  waters,  and  on 
the  most  unpromising  day.  He  used  his  hook  so 
coyly  and  tenderly,  he  approached  the  fish  with  such 


SPECKLED   TROUT  99 

address  and  insinuation,  he  divined  the  exact  spot 
where  they  lay :  if  they  were  not  eager  he  humored 
them  and  seemed  to  steal  by  them;  if  they  were 
playful  and  coquettish  he  would  suit  his  mood  to 
theirs;  if  they  were  frank  and  sincere  he  met  them 
half  way;  he  was  so  patient  and  considerate,  so  en- 
tirely devoted  to  pleasing  the  critical  trout,  and  so 
successful  in  his  efforts,  —  surely  his  heart  was  upon 
his  hook,  and  it  was  a  tender,  unctuous  heart,  too, 
as  that  of  every  angler  is.  How  nicely  he  would 
measure  the  distance!  how  dexterously  he  would 
avoid  an  overhanging  limb  or  bush  and  drop  the  line 
exactly  in  the  right  spot !  Of  course  there  was  a  pulse 
of  feeling  and  sympathy  to  the  extremity  of  that 
line.  If  your  heart  is  a  stone,  however,  or  an  empty 
husk,  there  is  no  use  to  put  it  upon  your  hook;  it 
will  not  tempt  the  fish;  the  bait  must  be  quick  and 
fresh.  Indeed,  a  certain  quality  of  youth  is  indis- 
pensable to  the  successful  angler,  a  certain  unworld- 
liness  and  readiness  to  invest  yourself  in  an  enterprise 
that  does  n't  pay  in  the  current  coin.  Not  only  is 
the  angler,  like  the  poet,  born  and  not  made,  as 
Walton  says,  but  there  is  a  deal  of  the  poet  in  him, 
and  he  is  to  be  judged  no  more  harshly;  he  is  the 
victim  of  his  genius:  those  wild  streams,  how  they 
haunt  him !  he  will  play  truant  to  dull  care,  and  flee 
to  them ;  their  waters  impart  somewhat  of  their  own 
perpetual  youth  to  him.  My  grandfather  when  he 
was  eighty  years  old  would  take  down  his  pole  as 
eagerly  as  any  boy,  and  step  off  with  wonderful  elas- 
ticity toward  the  beloved  streams;  it  used  to  try 


100       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

my  young  legs  a  good  deal  to  follow  him,  specially 
on  the  return  trip.  And  no  poet  was  ever  more 
innocent  of  worldly  success  or  ambition.  For,  to 
paraphrase  Tennyson,  — 

"  Lusty  trout  to  him  were  scrip  and  share, 
And  babbling  waters  more  than  cent  for  cent." 

He  laid  up  treasures,  but  they  were  not  in  this 
world.  In  fact,  though  the  kindest  of  husbands,  I 
fear  he  was  not  what  the  country  people  call  a  "good 
provider,"  except  in  providing  trout  in  their  season, 
though  it  is  doubtful  if  there  was  always  fat  in  the 
house  to  fry  them  in.  But  he  could  tell  you  they 
were  worse  off  than  that  at  Valley  Forge,  and  that 
trout,  or  any  other  fish,  were  good  roasted  in  the 
ashes  under  the  coals.  He  had  the  Walton  requisite 
of  loving  quietness  and  contemplation,  and  was  de- 
vout withal.  Indeed,  in  many  ways  he  was  akin  to 
those  Galilee  fishermen  who  were  called  to  be  fishers 
of  men.  How  he  read  the  Book  and  pored  over  it, 
even  at  times,  I  suspect,  nodding  over  it,  and  laying 
it  down  only  to  take  up  his  rod,  over  which,  unless 
the  trout  were  very  dilatory  and  the  journey  very 
fatiguing,  he  never  nodded! 

ii 

The  Delaware  is  one  of  our  minor  rivers,  but  it  is 
a  stream  beloved  of  the  trout.  Nearly  all  its  remote 
branches  head  in  mountain  springs,  and  its  collected 
waters,  even  when  warmed  by  the  summer  sun,  are 
as  sweet  and  wholesome  as  dew  swept  from  the  grass. 
The  Hudson  wins  from  it  two  streams  that  are 


SPECKLED  TEOUT  101 

fathered  by  the  mountains  from  whose  loins  most  of 
its  beginnings  issue,  namely,  the  Kondout  and  the 
Esopus.  These  swell  a  more  illustrious  current  than 
the  Delaware,  but  the  Kondout,  one  of  the  finest 
trout  streams  in  the  world,  makes  an  uncanny  alli- 
ance before  it  reaches  its  destination,  namely,  with 
the  malarious  Wallkill. 

In  the  same  nest  of  mountains  from  which  they 
start  are  born  the  Neversink  and  the  Beaverkill, 
streams  of  wondrous  beauty  that  flow  south  and  west 
into  the  Delaware.  From  my  native  hills  I  could 
catch  glimpses  of  the  mountains  in  whose  laps  these 
creeks  were  cradled,  but  it  was  not  till  after  many 
years,  and  after  dwelling  in  a  country  where  trout 
are  not  found,  that  I  returned  to  pay  my  respects  to 
them  as  an  angler. 

My  first  acquaintance  with  the  Neversink  was 
made  in  company  with  some  friends  in  1869.  We 
passed  up  the  valley  of  the  Big  Ingin,  marveling  at 
its  copious  ice-cold  springs,  and  its  immense  sweep 
of  heavy-timbered  mountain  sides.  Crossing  the 
range  at  its  head,  we  struck  the  Neversink  quite 
unexpectedly  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  at 
a  point  where  it  was  a  good-sized  trout  stream.  It 
proved  to  be  one  of  those  black  mountain  brooks 
born  of  innumerable  ice-cold  springs,  nourished  in 
the  shade,  and  shod,  as  it  were,  with  thick-matted 
moss,  that  every  camper-out  remembers.  The  fish 
are  as  black  as  the  stream  and  very  wild.  They  dart 
from  beneath  the  fringed  rocks,  or  dive  with  the 
hook  into  the  dusky  depths,  —  an  integral  part  of 


102       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

the  silence  and  the  shadows.  The  spell  of  the  moss 
is  over  all.  The  fisherman's  tread  is  noiseless,  as 
he  leaps  from  stone  to  stone  and  from  ledge  to  ledge 
along  the  bed  of  the  stream.  How  cool  it  is !  He 
looks  up  the  dark,  silent  defile,  hears  the  solitary 
voice  of  the  water,  sees  the  decayed  trunks  of  fallen 
trees  bridging  the  stream,  and  all  he  has  dreamed, 
when  a  boy,  of  the  haunts  of  beasts  of  prey  —  the 
crouching  feline  tribes,  especially  if  it  be  near  night- 
fall and  the  gloom  already  deepening  in  the  woods 
—  comes  freshly  to  mind,  and  he  presses  on,  wary 
and  alert,  and  speaking  to  his  companions  in  low 
tones. 

After  an  hour  or  so  the  trout  became  less  abun- 
dant, and  with  nearly  a  hundred  of  the  black  sprites 
in  our  baskets  we  turned  back.  Here  and  there  I 
saw  the  abandoned  nests  of  the  pigeons,  sometimes 
half  a  dozen  in  one  tree.  In  a  yellow  birch  which 
the  floods  had  uprooted,  a  number  of  nests  were  still 
in  place,  little  shelves  or  platforms  of  twigs  loosely 
arranged,  and  affording  little  or  no  protection  to  the 
eggs  or  the  young  birds  against  inclement  weather. 

Before  we  had  reached  our  companions  the  rain 
set  in  again  and  forced  us  to  take  shelter  under  a 
balsam.  When  it  slackened  we  moved  on  and  soon 
came  up  with  Aaron,  who  had  caught  his  first  trout, 
and,  considerably  drenched,  was  making  his  way  to- 
ward camp,  which  one  of  the  party  had  gone  forward 
to  build.  After  traveling  less  than  a  mile,  we  saw 
a  smoke  struggling  up  through  the  dripping  trees, 
and  in  a  few  moments  were  all  standing  round  a 


SPECKLED   TEOUT  103 

blazing  fire.  But  the  rain  now  commenced  again, 
and  fairly  poured  down  through  the  trees,  rendering 
the  prospect  of  cooking  and  eating  our  supper  there 
in  the  woods,  and  of  passing  the  night  on  the  ground 
without  tent  or  cover  of  any  kind,  rather  dishearten- 
ing. We  had  been  told  of  a  bark  shanty  a  couple  of 
miles  farther  down  the  creek,  and  thitherward  we 
speedily  took  up  our  line  of  march.  When  we  were 
on  the  point  of  discontinuing  the  search,  thinking 
we  had  been  misinformed  or  had  passed  it  by,  we 
came  in  sight  of  a  barkpeeling,  in  the  midst  of  which 
a  small  log  house  lifted  its  naked  rafters  toward  the 
now  breaking  sky.  It  had  neither  floor  nor  roof, 
and  was  less  inviting  on  first  sight  than  the  open 
woods.  But  a  board  partition  was  still  standing, 
out  of  which  we  built  a  rude  porch  on  the  east  side 
of  the  house,  large  enough  for  us  all  to  sleep  under 
if  well  packed,  and  eat  under  if  we  stood  up.  There 
was  plenty  of  well-seasoned  timber  lying  about,  and 
a  fire  was  soon  burning  in  front  of  our  quarters  that 
made  the  scene  social  and  picturesque,  especially 
when  the  frying-pans  were  brought  into  requisition, 
and  the  coffee,  in  charge  of  Aaron,  who  was  an  artist 
in  this  line,  mingled  its  aroma  with  the  wild- wood 
air.  At  dusk  a  balsam  was  felled,  and  the  tips  of 
the  branches  used  to  make  a  bed,  which  was  more 
fragrant  than  soft;  hemlock  is  better,  because  its 
needles  are  finer  and  its  branches  more  elastic. 

There  was  a  spirt  or  two  of  rain  during  the  night, 
but  not  enough  to  find  out  the  leaks  in  our  roof.  It 
took  the  shower  or  series  of  showers  of  the  next  day 


104       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

to  do  that.  They  commenced  about  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon.  The  forenoon  had  been  fine,  and  we 
had  brought  into  camp  nearly  three  hundred  trout; 
but  before  they  were  half  dressed,  or  the  first  panf uls 
fried,  the  rain  set  in.  First  came  short,  sharp  dashes, 
then  a  gleam  of  treacherous  sunshine,  followed  by 
more  and  heavier  dashes.  The  wind  was  in  the 
southwest,  and  to  rain  seemed  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world.  From  fitful  dashes  to  a  steady  pour  the 
transition  was  natural.  We  stood  huddled  together, 
stark  and  grim,  under  our  cover,  like  hens  under  a 
cart.  The  fire  fought  bravely  for  a  time,  and  retal- 
iated with  sparks  and  spiteful  tongues  of  flame;  but 
gradually  its  spirit  was  broken,  only  a  heavy  body 
of  coal  and  half -consumed  logs  in  the  centre  holding 
out  against  all  odds.  The  simmering  fish  were  soon 
floating  about  in  a  yellow  liquid  that  did  not  look  in 
the  least  appetizing.  Point  after  point  gave  way  in 
our  cover,  till  standing  between  the  drops  was  no 
longer  possible.  The  water  coursed  down  the  un- 
derside of  the  boards,  and  dripped  in  our  necks  and 
formed  puddles  on  our  hat-brims.  We  shifted  our 
guns  and  traps  and  viands,  till  there  was  no  longer 
any  choice  of  position,  when  the  loaves  and  the 
fishes,  the  salt  and  the  sugar,  the  pork  and  the  but- 
ter, shared  the  same  watery  fate.  The  fire  was 
gasping  its  last.  Little  rivulets  coursed  about  it, 
and  bore  away  the  quenched  but  steaming  coals  on 
their  bosoms.  The  spring  run  in  the  rear  of  our 
camp  swelled  so  rapidly  that  part  of  the  trout  that 
had  been  hastily  left  lying  on  its  banks  again  found 


SPECKLED   TROUT  105 

themselves  quite  at  home.  For  over  two  hours  the 
floods  came  down.  About  four  o'clock  Orville,  who 
had  not  yet  come  from  the  day's  sport,  appeared. 
To  say  Orville  was  wet  is  not  much;  he  was  better 
than  that,  —  he  had  been  washed  and  rinsed  in  at 
least  half  a  dozen  waters,  and  the  trout  that  he  bore 
dangling  at  the  end  of  a  string  hardly  knew  that 
they  had  been  out  of  their  proper  element. 

But  he  brought  welcome  news.  He  had  been 
two  or  three  miles  down  the  creek,  and  had  seen  a 
log  building,  — whether  house  or  stable  he  did  not 
know,  but  it  had  the  appearance  of  having  a  good 
roof,  which  was  inducement  enough  for  us  instantly 
to  leave  our  present  quarters.  Our  course  lay  along 
an  old  wood-road,  and  much  of  the  time  we  were  to 
our  knees  in  water.  The  woods  were  literally  flooded 
everywhere.  Every  little  rill  and  springlet  ran  like 
a  mill-tail,  while  the  main  stream  rushed  and  roared, 
foaming,  leaping,  lashing,  its  volume  increased  fifty 
fold.  The  water  was  not  roily,  but  of  a  rich  coffee- 
color,  from  the  leachings  of  the  woods.  No  more 
trout  for  the  next  three  days !  we  thought  as  we 
looked  upon  the  rampant  stream. 

After  we  had  labored  and  floundered  along  for 
about  an  hour,  the  road  turned  to  the  left,  and  in  a 
little  stumpy  clearing  near  the  creek  a  gable  uprose 
on  our  view.  It  did  not  prove  to  be  just  such  a 
place  as  poets  love  to  contemplate.  It  required 
a  greater  effort  of  the  imagination  than  any  of  us 
were  then  capable  of  to  believe  it  had  ever  been  a 
favorite  resort  of  wood-nymphs  or  sylvan  deities. 


106       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

It  savored  rather  of  the  equine  and  the  bovine.  The 
bark-men  had  kept  their  teams  there,  horses  on  the 
one  side  and  oxen  on  the  other,  and  no  Hercules 
had  ever  done  duty  in  cleansing  the  stables.  But 
there  was  a  dry  loft  overhead  with  some  straw,  where 
we  might  get  some  sleep,  in  spite  of  the  rain  and 
the  midges;  a  double  layer  of  boards,  standing  at  a 
very  acute  angle,  would  keep  off  the  former,  while 
the  mingled  refuse  hay  and  muck  beneath  would 
nurse  a  smoke  that  would  prove  a  thorough  protec- 
tion against  the  latter.  And  then,  when  Jim,  the 
two-handed,  mounting  the  trunk  of  a  prostrate  maple 
near  by,  had  severed  it  thrice  with  easy  and  familiar 
stroke,  and,  rolling  the  logs  in  front  of  the  shanty, 
had  kindled  a  fire,  which,  getting  the  better  of  the 
dampness,  soon  cast  a  bright  glow  over  all,  shedding 
warmth  and  light  even  into  the  dingy  stable,  I  con- 
sented to  unsling  my  knapsack  and  accept  the  situa- 
tion. The  rain  had  ceased  and  the  sun  shone  out 
behind  the  woods.  We  had  trout  sufficient  for  pres- 
ent needs ;  and  after  my  first  meal  in  an  ox-stall,  I 
strolled  out  on  the  rude  log  bridge  to  watch  the 
angry  Neversink  rush  by.  Its  waters  fell  quite  as 
rapidly  as  they  rose,  and  before  sundown  it  looked 
as  if  we  might  have  fishing  again  on  the  morrow. 
We  had  better  sleep  that  night  than  either  night 
before,  though  there  were  two  disturbing  causes,  — 
the  smoke  in  the  early  part  of  it,  and  the  cold  in 
the  latter.  The  "no-see-ems"  left  in  disgust;  and, 
though  disgusted  myself,  I  swallowed  the  smoke  as 
•best  I  could,  and  hugged  my  pallet  of  straw  the 


SPECKLED   TKOUT  107 

closer.  But  the  day  dawned  bright,  and  a  plunge 
in  the  Neversink  set  me  all  right  again.  The  creek, 
to  our  surprise  and  gratification,  was  only  a  little 
higher  than  before  the  rain,  and  some  of  the  finest 
trout  we  had  yet  seen  we  caught  that  morning  near 
camp. 

We  tarried  yet  another  day  and  night  at  the  old 
stable,  but  taking  our  meals  outside  squatted  on  the 
ground,  which  had  now  become  quite  dry.  Part  of 
the  day  I  spent  strolling  about  the  woods,  looking 
up  old  acquaintances  among  the  birds,  and,  as  al- 
ways, half  expectant  of  making  some  new  ones. 
Curiously  enough,  the  most  abundant  species  were 
among  those  I  had  found  rare  in  most  other  locali- 
ties, namely,  the  small  water- wagtail,  the  mourning 
ground  warbler,  and  the  yellow-bellied  woodpecker. 
The  latter  seems  to  be  the  prevailing  woodpecker 
through  the  woods  of  this  region. 

That  night  the  midges,  those  motes  that  sting, 
held  high  carnival.  We  learned  afterward,  in  the 
settlement  below  and  from  the  barkpeelers,  that  it 
was  the  worst  night  ever  experienced  in  that  valley. 
We  had  done  no  fishing  during  the  day,  but  had  an- 
ticipated some  fine  sport  about  sundown.  Accord- 
ingly Aaron  and  I  started  off  between  six  and  seven 
o'clock,  one  going  up  stream  and  the  other  down. 
The  scene  was  charming.  The  sun  shot  up  great 
spokes  of  light  from  behind  the  woods,  and  beauty, 
like  a  presence,  pervaded  the  atmosphere.  But  tor- 
ment, multiplied  as  the  sands  of  the  seashore,  lurked 
in  every  tangle  and  thicket.  In  a  thoughtless  mo- 


108  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD  HONEY 

ment  I  removed  my  shoes  and  socks,  and  waded  in 
the  water  to  secure  a  fine  trout  that  had  accidentally 
slipped  from  my  string  and  was  helplessly  floating 
with  the  current.  This  caused  some  delay  and  gave 
the  gnats  time  to  accumulate.  Before  I  had  got  one 
foot  half  dressed  I  was  enveloped  in  a  black  mist 
that  settled  upon  my  hands  and  neck  and  face,  fill- 
ing my  ears  with  infinitesimal  pipings  and  covering 
my  flesh  with  infinitesimal  bitings.  I  thought  I 
should  have  to  flee  to  the  friendly  fumes  of  the  old 
stable,  with  "  one  stocking  off  and  one  stocking  on ; " 
but  I  got  my  shoe  on  at  last,  though  not  without 
many  amusing  interruptions  and  digressions. 

In  a  few  moments  after  this  adventure  I  was  in 
rapid  retreat  toward  camp.  Just  as  I  reached  the 
path  leading  from  the  shanty  to  the  creek,  my  com- 
panion in  the  same  ignoble  flight  reached  it  also,  his 
hat  broken  and  rumpled,  and  his  sanguine  coun- 
tenance looking  more  sanguinary  than  I  had  ever 
before  seen  it,  and  his  speech,  also,  in  the  highest 
degree  inflammatory.  His  face  and  forehead  were  as 
blotched  and  swollen  as  if  he  had  just  run  his  head 
into  a  hornets'  nest,  and  his  manner  as  precipitate 
as  if  the  whole  swarm  was  still  at  his  back. 

No  smoke  or  smudge  which  we  ourselves  could 
endure  was  sufficient  in  the  earlier  part  of  that  even- 
ing to  prevent  serious  annoyance  from  the  same 
cause;  but  later  a  respite  was  granted  us. 

About  ten  o'clock,  as  we  stood  round  our  camp- 
fire,  we  were  startled  by  a  brief  but  striking  display 
of  the  aurora  borealis.  My  imagination  had  already 


SPECKLED   TROUT  109 

been  excited  by  talk  of  legends  and  of  weird  shapes 
and  appearances,  and  when,  on  looking  up  toward 
the  sky,  I  saw  those  pale,  phantasmal  waves  of  mag- 
netic light  chasing  each  other  across  the  little  open- 
ing above  our  heads,  and  at  first  sight  seeming  barely 
to  clear  the  treetops,  I  was  as  vividly  impressed  as 
if  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  veritable  spectre  of  the 
Neversink.  The  sky  shook  and  trembled  like  a 
great  white  curtain. 

After  we  had  climbed  to  our  loft  and  had  lain 
down  to  sleep,  another  adventure  befell  us.  This 
time  a  new  and  uninviting  customer  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  the  genius  loci  of  the  old  stable,  namely, 
the  "fretful  porcupine."  We  had  seen  the  marks 
and  work  of  these  animals  about  the  shanty,  and 
had  been  careful  each  night  to  hang  our  traps,  guns, 
etc.,  beyond  their  reach,  but  of  the  prickly  night- 
walker  himself  we  feared  we  should  not  get  a  view. 

We  had  lain  down  some  half  hour,  and  I  was  just 
on  the  threshold  of  sleep,  ready,  as  it  were,  to  pass 
through  the  open  door  into  the  land  of  dreams,  when 
I  heard  outside  somewhere  that  curious  sound,  — a 
sound  which  I  had  heard  every  night  I  spent  in 
these  woods,  not  only  on  this  but  on  former  expedi- 
tions, and  which  I  had  settled  in  my  mind  as  pro- 
ceeding from  the  porcupine,  since  I  knew  the  sounds 
our  other  common  animals  were  likely  to  make,  —  a 
sound  that  might  be  either  a  gnawing  on  some  hard, 
dry  substance,  or  a  grating  of  teeth,  or  a  shrill 
grunting. 

Orville  heard  it  also,  and,  raising  up  on  his  elbow, 
asked,  "What  is  that?" 


110       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

"  What  the  hunters  call  a  '  porcupig, '  "  said  I. 

"Sure?" 

"Entirely  so." 

"  Why  does  he  make  that  noise  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  way  he  has  of  cursing  our  fire, "  I  replied. 
"I  heard  him  last  night  also." 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  he  is  1 "  inquired  my 
companion,  showing  a  disposition  to  look  him  up. 

"Not  far  off,  perhaps  fifteen  or  twenty  yards  from 
our  fire,  where  the  shadows  begin  to  deepen." 

Orville  slipped  into  his  trousers,  felt  for  my  gun, 
and  in  a  moment  had  disappeared  down  through  the 
scuttle  hole.  I  had  no  disposition  to  follow  him, 
but  was  rather  annoyed  than  otherwise  at  the  dis- 
turbance. Getting  the  direction  of  the  sound,  he 
went  picking  his  way  over  the  rough,  uneven  ground, 
and,  when  he  got  where  the  light  failed  him,  poking 
every  doubtful  object  with  the  end  of  his  gun. 
Presently  he  poked  a  light  grayish  object,  like  a 
large  round  stone,  which  surprised  him  by  moving 
off.  On  this  hint  he  fired,  making  an  incurable 
wound  in  the  "porcupig,"  which,  nevertheless,  tried 
harder  than  ever  to  escape.  I  lay  listening,  when, 
close  on  the  heels  of  the  report  of  the  gun,  came  ex- 
cited shouts  for  a  revolver.  Snatching  up  my  Smith 
and  Wesson,  I  hastened,  shoeless  and  hatless,  to  the 
scene  of  action,  wondering  what  was  up.  I  found 
my  companion  struggling  to  detain,  with  the  end  of 
the  gun,  an  uncertain  object  that  was  trying  to  crawl 
off  into  the  darkness.  "  Look  out !  "  said  Orville, 
as  he  saw  my  bare  feet,  "the  quills  are  lying  thick 
around  here." 


SPECKLED  TROUT  111 

And  so  they  were ;  he  had  blown  or  beaten  them 
nearly  all  off  the  poor  creature's  back,  and  was  in  a 
fair  way  completely  to  disable  my  gun,  the  ramrod 
of  which  was  already  broken  and  splintered  clubbing 
his  victim.  But  a  couple  of  shots  from  the  revol- 
ver, sighted  by  a  lighted  match,  at  the  head  of  the 
animal,  quickly  settled  him. 

It  proved  to  be  an  unusually  large  Canada  porcu- 
pine, —  an  old  patriarch,  gray  and  venerable,  with 
spines  three  inches  long,  and  weighing,  I  should  say, 
twenty  pounds.  The  build  of  this  animal  is  much 
like  that  of  the  woodchuck,  that  is,  heavy  and 
pouchy.  The  nose  is  blunter  than  that  of  the  wood- 
chuck,  the  limbs  stronger,  and  the  tail  broader  and 
heavier.  Indeed,  the  latter  appendage  is  quite  club- 
like,  and  the  animal  can,  no  doubt,  deal  a  smart  blow 
with  it.  An  old  hunter  with  whom  I  talked 
thought  it  aided  them  in  climbing.  They  are  in- 
veterate gnawers,  and  spend  much  of  their  time  in 
trees  gnawing  the  bark.  In  winter  one  will  take 
up  its  abode  in  a  hemlock,  and  continue  there  till 
the  tree  is  quite  denuded.  The  carcass  emitted  a 
peculiar  offensive  odor,  and,  though  very  fat,  was 
not  in  the  least  inviting  as  game.  If  it  is  part  of 
the  economy  of  nature  for  one  animal  to  prey  upon 
some  other  beneath  it,  then  the  poor  devil  has  in- 
deed a  mouthful  that  makes  a  meal  off  the  porcu- 
pine. Panthers  and  lynxes  have  essayed  it,  but 
have  invariably  left  off  at  the  first  course,  and  have 
afterwards  been  found  dead,  or  nearly  so,  with  their 
heads  puffed  up  like  a  pincushion,  and  the  quills 


112  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD    HONEY 

protruding  on  all  sides.  A  dog  that  understands  the 
business  will  manoeuvre  round  the  porcupine  till  he 
gets  an  opportunity  to  throw  it  over  on  its  back, 
when  he  fastens  on  its  quilless  underbody.  Aaron 
was  puzzled  to  know  how  long-parted  friends  could 
embrace,  when  it  was  suggested  that  the  quills  could 
be  depressed  or  elevated  at  pleasure. 

The  next  morning  boded  rain ;  but  we  had  become 
thoroughly  sated  with  the  delights  of  our  present 
quarters,  outside  and  in,  and  packed  up  our  traps  to 
leave.  Before  we  had  reached  the  clearing,  three 
miles  below,  the  rain  set  in,  keeping  up  a  lazy,  mo- 
notonous drizzle  till  the  afternoon. 

The  clearing  was  quite  a  recent  one,  made  mostly 
by  barkpeelers,  who  followed  their  calling  in  the 
mountains  round  about  in  summer,  and  worked  in 
their  shops  making  shingle  in  winter.  The  Biscuit 
Brook  came  in  here  from  the  west,  —  a  fine,  rapid 
trout  stream  six  or  eight  miles  in  length,  with  plenty 
of  deer  in  the  mountains  about  its  head.  On  its 
banks  we  found  the  house  of  an  old  woodman,  to 
whom  we  had  been  directed  for  information  about 
the  section  we  proposed  to  traverse. 

"Is  the  way  very  difficult,"  we  inquired,  "across 
from  the  Neversink  into  the  head  of  the  Beaver- 
kill?" 

"Not  to  me;  I  could  go  it  the  darkest  night  ever 
•was.  And  I  can  direct  you  so  you  can  find  the  way 
without  any  trouble.  You  go  down  the  Neversink 
about  a  mile,  when  you  come  to  Highfall  Brook,  the 
first  stream  that  comes  down  on  the  right.  Pol- 


SPECKLED   TROUT  113 

low  up  it  to  Jim  Keed's  shanty,  about  three  miles. 
Then  cross  the  stream,  and  on  the  left  bank,  pretty 
well  up  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  you  will  find  a 
wood-road,  which  was  made  by  a  fellow  below  here 
who  stole  some  ash  logs  off  the  top  of  the  ridge  last 
winter  and  drew  them  out  on  the  snow.  When  the 
road  first  begins  to  tilt  over  the  mountain,  strike 
down  to  your  left,  and  you  can  reach  the  Beaverkill 
before  sundown." 

As  it  was  then  after  two  o'clock,  and  as  the  dis- 
tance was  six  or  eight  of  these  terrible  hunters'  miles, 
we  concluded  to  take  a  whole  day  to  it,  and  wait 
till  next  morning.  The  Beaverkill  flowed  west,  the 
Neversink  south,  and  I  had  a  mortal  dread  of  get- 
ting entangled  amid  the  mountains  and  valleys  that 
lie  in  either  angle. 

Besides,  I  was  glad  of  another  and  final  oppor- 
tunity to  pay  my  respects  to  the  finny  tribes  of  the 
Neversink.  At  this  point  it  was  one  of  the  finest 
trout  streams  I  had  ever  beheld.  It  was  so  spark- 
ling, its  bed  so  free  from  sediment  or  impurities  of 
any  kind,  that  it  had  a  new  look,  as  if  it  had  just 
come  from  the  hand  of  its  Creator.  I  tramped  along 
its  margin  upward  of  a  mile  that  afternoon,  part  of 
the  time  wading  to  my  knees,  and  casting  my  hook, 
baited  only  with  a  trout's  fin,  to  the  opposite  bank. 
Trout  are  real  cannibals,  and  make  no  bones,  and 
break  none  either,  in  lunching  on  each  other.  A 
friend  of  mine  had  several  in  his  spring,  when  one 
day  a  large  female  trout  gulped  down  one  of  her 
male  friends,  nearly  one  third  her  own  size,  and  went 


114  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

around  for  two  days  with  the  tail  of  her  liege  lord 
protruding  from  her  mouth!  A  fish's  eye  will  do 
for  bait,  though  the  anal  fin  is  better.  One  of  the 
natives  here  ftold  me  that  when  he  wished  to  catch 
large  trout  (and  I  judged  he  never  fished  for  any 
other,  —  I  never  do),  he  used  for  bait  the  bullhead, 
or  dart,  a  little  fish  an  inch  and  a  half  or  two  inches 
long,  that  rests  on  the  pebbles  near  shore  and  darts 
quickly,  when  disturbed,  from  point  to  point.  "Put 
that  on  your  hook,"  said  he,  "and  if  there  is  a  big 
fish  in  the  creek  he  is  bound  to  have  it."  But  the 
darts  were  not  easily  found;  the  big  fish,  I  con- 
cluded, had  cleaned  them  all  out;  and,  then,  it  was 
easy  enough  to  supply  our  wants  with  a  fin. 

Declining  the  hospitable  offers  of  the  settlers,  we 
spread  our  blankets  that  night  in  a  dilapidated  shin- 
gle-shop on  the  banks  of  the  Biscuit  Brook,  first 
flooring  the  damp  ground  with  the  new  shingle  that 
lay  piled  in  one  corner.  The  place  had  a  great- 
throated  chimney  with  a  tremendous  expanse  of  fire- 
place within,  that  cried  "  More ! "  at  every  morsel  of 
wood  we  gave  it. 

But  I  must  hasten  over  this  part  of  the  ground, 
nor  let  the  delicious  flavor  of  the  milk  we  had  that 
morning  for  breakfast,  and  that  was  so  delectable 
after  four  days  of  fish,  linger  on  my  tongue ;  nor  yet 
tarry  to  set  down  the  talk  of  that  honest,  weather- 
worn passer-by  who  paused  before  our  door,  and 
every  moment  on  the  point  of  resuming  his  way, 
yet  stood  for  an  hour  and  recited  his  adventures 
hunting  deer  and  bears  on  these  mountains.  Having 


SPECKLED  TROUT  115 

replenished  our  stock  of  bread  and  salt  pork  at  the 
house  of  one  of  the  settlers,  midday  found  us  at 
Reed's  shanty,  —  one  of  those  temporary  structures 
erected  by  the  bark  jobber  to  lodge  and  board  his 
"  hands  "  near  their  work.  Jim  not  being  at  home, 
we  could  gain  no  information  from  the  "women 
folks  "  about  the  way,  nor  from  the  men  who  had 
just  come  in  to  dinner;  so  we  pushed  on,  as  near  as 
we  could,  according  to  the  instructions  we  had  pre- 
viously received.  Crossing  the  creek,  we  forced  our 
way  up  the  side  of  the  mountain,  through  a  perfect 
cheval-de-frise  of  fallen  and  peeled  hemlocks,  and, 
entering  the  dense  woods  above,  began  to  look  anx- 
iously about  for  the  wood-road.  My  companions 
at  first  could  see  no  trace  of  it;  but  knowing  that  a 
casual  wood-road  cut  in  winter,  when  there  was  likely 
to  be  two  or  three  feet  of  snow  on  the  ground,  would 
present  only  the  slightest  indications  to  the  eye  in 
summer,  I  looked  a  little  closer,  and  could  make  out 
a  mark  or  two  here  and  there.  The  larger  trees  had 
been  avoided,  and  the  axe  used  only  on  the  small 
saplings  and  underbrush,  which  had  been  lopped  off 
a  couple  of  feet  from  the  ground.  By  being  con- 
stantly on  the  alert,  we  followed  it  till  near  the  top 
of  the  mountain ;  but,  when  looking  to  see  it  "  tilt " 
over  the  other  side,  it  disappeared  altogether.  Some 
stumps  of  the  black  cherry  were  found,  and  a  solitary 
pair  of  snow-shoes  were  hanging  high  and  dry  on  a 
branch,  but  no  further  trace  of  human  hands  could 
we  see.  While  we  were  resting  here  a  couple  of 
hermit  thrushes,  one  of  them  with  some  sad  defect 


116  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

in  his  vocal  powers  which  barred  him  from  uttering 
more  than  a  few  notes  of  his  song,  gave  voice  to  the 
solitude  of  the  place.  This  was  the  second  instance 
in  which  I  have  observed  a  song-bird  with  apparently 
some  organic  defect  in  its  instrument.  The  other 
case  was  that  of  a  bobolink,  which,  hover  in  mid- 
air and  inflate  its  throat  as  it  might,  could  only  force 
out  a  few  incoherent  notes.  But  the  bird  in  each 
case  presented  this  striking  contrast  to  human  exam- 
ples of  the  kind,  that  it  was  apparently  just  as  proud 
of  itself,  and  just  as  well  satisfied  with  its  perform- 
ance, as  its  more  successful  rivals. 

After  deliberating  some  time  over  a  pocket  com- 
pass which  I  carried,  we  decided  upon  our  course, 
and  held  on  to  the  west.  The  descent  was  very 
gradual.  Traces  of  bear  and  deer  were  noted  at  dif- 
ferent points,  but  not  a  live  animal  was  seen. 

About  four  o'clock  we  reached  the  bank  of  a 
stream  flowing  west.  Hail  to  the  Beaverkill!  and 
we  pushed  on  along  its  banks.  The  trout  were 
plenty,  and  rose  quickly  to  the  hook;  but  we  held 
on  our  way,  designing  to  go  into  camp  about  six 
o'clock.  Many  inviting  places,  first  on  one  bank, 
then  on  the  other,  made  us  linger,  till  finally  we 
reached  a  smooth,  dry  place  overshadowed  by  balsam 
and  hemlock,  where  the  creek  bent  around  a  little 
flat,  which  was  so  entirely  to  our  fancy  that  we  un- 
slung  our  knapsacks  at  once.  While  my  companions 
were  cutting  wood  and  making  other  preparations  for 
the  night,  it  fell  to  my  lot,  as  the  most  successful 
angler,  to  provide  the  trout  for  supper  and  breakfast. 


SPECKLED   TROUT  117 

How  shall  I  describe  that  wild,  beautiful  stream, 
with  features  so  like  those  of  all  other  mountain 
streams?  And  yet,  as  I  saw  it  in  the  deep  twilight 
of  those  woods  on  that  June  afternoon,  with  its 
steady,  even  flow,  and  its  tranquil,  many-voiced 
murmur,  it  made  an  impression  upon  my  mind  dis- 
tinct and  peculiar,  fraught  in  an  eminent  degree 
with  the  charm  of  seclusion  and  remoteness.  The 
solitude  was  perfect,  and  I  felt  that  strangeness  and 
insignificance  which  the  civilized  man  must  always 
feel  when  opposing  himself  to  such  a  vast  scene  of 
silence  and  wildness.  The  trout  were  quite  black, 
like  all  wood  trout,  and  took  the  bait  eagerly.  I 
followed  the  stream  till  the  deepening  shadows 
warned  me  to  turn  back.  As  I  neared  camp,  the 
fire  shone  far  through  the  trees,  dispelling  the  gath- 
ering gloom,  but  blinding  my  eyes  to  all  obstacles 
at  my  feet.  I  was  seriously  disturbed  on  arriving 
to  find  that  one  of  my  companions  had  cut  an  ugly 
gash  in  his  shin  with  the  axe  while  felling  a  tree. 
As  we  did  not  carry  a  fifth  wheel,  it  was  not  just 
the  time  or  place  to  have  any  of  our  members  crip- 
pled, and  I  had  bodings  of  evil.  But,  thanks  to  the 
healing  virtues  of  the  balsam  which  must  have  ad- 
hered to  the  blade  of  the  axe,  and  double  thanks  to 
the  court-plaster  with  which  Orville  had  supplied 
himself  before  leaving  home,  the  wounded  leg,  by 
being  favored  that  night  and  the  next  day,  gave  us 
little  trouble. 

That  night  we  had  our  first  fair  and  square  camp- 
ing out,  —  that  is,  sleeping  on  the  ground  with  no 


118  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

shelter  over  us  but  the  trees,  —  and  it  was  in  many 
respects  the  pleasantest  night  we  spent  in  the  woods. 
The  weather  was  perfect  and  the  place  was  perfect, 
and  for  the  first  time  we  were  exempt  from  the 
midges  and  smoke;  and  then  we  appreciated  the 
clean  new  page  we  had  to  work  on.  Nothing  is  so 
acceptable  to  the  camper-out  as  a  pure  article  in  the 
way  of  woods  and  waters.  Any  admixture  of  human 
relics  mars  the  spirit  of  the  scene.  Yet  I  am  will- 
ing to  confess  that,  before  we  were  through  those 
woods,  the  marks  of  an  axe  in  a  tree  was  a  welcome 
sight.  On  resuming  our  march  next  day  we  followed 
the  right  bank  of  the  Beaverkill,  in  order  to  strike 
a  stream  which  flowed  in  from  the  north,  and  which 
was  the  outlet  of  Balsam  Lake,  the  objective  point 
of  that  day's  march.  The  distance  to  the  lake  from 
our  camp  could  not  have  been  over  six  or  seven 
miles;  yet,  traveling  as  we  did,  without  path  or 
guide,  climbing  up  banks,  plunging  into  ravines, 
making  detours  around  swampy  places,  and  forcing 
our  way  through  woods  choked  up  with  much  fallen 
and  decayed  timber,  it  seemed  at  least  twice  that 
distance,  and  the  mid-afternoon  sun  was  shining 
when  we  emerged  into  what  is  called  the  "Quaker 
Clearing,"  ground  that  I  had  been  over  nine  years 
before,  and  that  lies  about  two  miles  south  of  the 
lake.  From  this  point  we  had  a  well-worn  path 
that  led  us  up  a  sharp  rise  of  ground,  then  through 
level  woods  till  we  saw  the  bright  gleam  of  the  water 
through  the  trees. 

I  am  always  struck,  on  approaching  these  little 


SPECKLED   TROUT  119 

mountain  lakes,  with  the  extensive  preparation  that 
is  made  for  them  in  the  conformation  of  the  ground. 
I  am  thinking  of  a  depression,  or  natural  basin,  in 
the  side  of  the  mountain  or  on  its  top,  the  brink  of 
which  I  shall  reach  after  a  little  steep  climbing ;  but 
instead  of  that,  after  I  have  accomplished  the  ascent, 
I  find  a  broad  sweep  of  level  or  gently  undulating 
woodland  that  brings  me  after  a  half  hour  or  so  to 
the  lake,  which  lies  in  this  vast  lap  like  a  drop  of 
water  in  the  palm  of  a  man's  hand. 

Balsam  Lake  was  oval-shaped,  scarcely  more  than 
half  a  mile  long  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide,  but 
presented  a  charming  picture,  with  a  group  of  dark 
gray  hemlocks  filling  the  valley  about  its  head,  and 
the  mountains  rising  above  and  beyond.  We  found 
a  bough  house  in  good  repair,  also  a  dug-out  and 
paddle  and  several  floats  of  logs.  In  the  dug-out  I 
was  soon  creeping  along  the  shady  side  of  the  lake, 
where  the  trout  were  incessantly  jumping  for  a  spe- 
cies of  black  fly,  that,  sheltered  from  the  slight 
breeze,  were  dancing  in  swarms  just  above  the  sur- 
face of  the  water.  The  gnats  were  there  in  swarms 
also,  and  did  their  best  toward  balancing  the  ac- 
counts by  preying  upon  me  while  I  preyed  upon  the 
trout  which  preyed  upon  the  flies.  But  by  dint  of 
keeping  my  hands,  face,  and  neck  constantly  wet,  I 
am  convinced  that  the  balance  of  blood  was  on  my 
side.  The  trout  jumped  most  within  a  foot  or  two 
of  shore,  where  the  water  was  only  a  few  inches 
deep.  The  shallowness  of  the  water,  perhaps,  ac- 
counted for  the  inability  of  the  fish  to  do  more  than 


120  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

lift  their  heads  above  the  surface.  They  came  up 
mouth  wide  open,  and  dropped  hack  again  in  the 
most  impotent  manner.  Where  there  is  any  depth 
of  water,  a  trout  will  jump  several  feet  into  the  air; 
and  where  there  is  a  solid,  unbroken  sheet  or  column, 
they  will  scale  falls  and  dams  fifteen  feet  high. 

We  had  the  very  cream  and  flower  of  our  trout- 
fishing  at  this  lake.  For  the  first  time  we  could  use 
the  fly  to  advantage;  and  then  the  contrast  between 
laborious  tramping  along  shore,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  sitting  in  one  end  of  a  dug-out  and  casting  your 
line  right  and  left  with  no  fear  of  entanglement  in 
brush  or  branch,  while  you  were  gently  propelled 
along,  on  the  other,  was  of  the  most  pleasing  char- 
acter. 

There  were  two  varieties  of  trout  in  the  lake,  — 
what  it  seems  proper  to  call  silver  trout  and  golden 
trout;  the  former  were  the  slimmer,  and  seemed  to 
keep  apart  from  the  latter.  Starting  from  the  out- 
let and  working  round  on  the  eastern  side  toward 
the  head,  we  invariably  caught  these  first.  They 
glanced  in  the  sun  like  bars  of  silver.  Their  sides 
and  bellies  were  indeed  as  white  as  new  silver.  As 
we  neared  the  head,  and  especially  as  we  came  near 
a  space  occupied  by  some  kind  of  watergrass  that 
grew  in  the  deeper  part  of  the  lake,  the  other  variety 
would  begin  to  take  the  hook,  their  bellies  a  bright 
gold  color,  which  became  a  deep  orange  on  their 
fins;  and  as  we  returned  to  the  place  of  departure 
with  the  bottom  of  the  boat  strewn  with  these  bright 
forms  intermingled,  it  was  a  sight  not  soon  to  be 


SPECKLED   TROUT  121 

forgotten.  It  pleased  my  eye  so,  that  I  would  fain 
linger  over  them,  arranging  them  in  rows  and  study- 
ing the  various  hues  and  tints.  They  were  of  nearly 
a  uniform  size,  rarely  one  over  ten  or  under  eight 
inches  in  length,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  hues  of  all 
the  precious  metals  and  stones  were  reflected  from 
their  sides.  The  flesh  was  deep  salmon-color;  that 
of  hrook  trout  is  generally  much  lighter.  Some 
hunters  and  fishers  from  the  valley  of  the  Mill  Brook, 
whom  we  met  here,  told  us  the  trout  were  much 
larger  in  the  lake,  though  far  less  numerous  than 
they  used  to  be.  Brook-trout  do  not  grow  large  till 
they  become  scarce.  It  is  only  in  streams  that  have 
been  long  and  much  fished  that  I  have  caught  them 
as  much  as  sixteen  inches  in  length. 

The  "porcupigs"  were  numerous  about  the  lake, 
and  not  at  all  shy.  One  night  the  heat  became  so 
intolerable  in  our  oven-shaped  bough  house  that  I 
was  obliged  to  withdraw  from  under  its  cover  and 
lie  down  a  little  to  one  side.  Just  at  daybreak,  as 
I  lay  rolled  in  my  blanket,  something  awoke  me. 
Lifting  up  my  head,  there  was  a  porcupine  with  his 
forepaws  on  my  hips.  He  was  apparently  as  much 
surprised  as  I  was ;  and  to  my  inquiry  as  to  what  he 
at  that  moment  might  be  looking  for,  he  did  not 
pause  to  reply,  but,  hitting  me  a  slap  with  his  tail 
which  left  three  or  four  quills  in  my  blanket,  he 
scampered  off  down  the  hill  into  the  brush. 

Being  an  observer  of  the  birds,  of  course  every 
curious  incident  connected  with  them  fell  under  my 
notice.  Hence,  as  we  stood  about  our  camp-fire  one 


122  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

afternoon  looking  out  over  the  lake,  I  was  the  only 
one  to  see  a  little  commotion  in  the  water,  half  hid- 
den by  the  near  branches,  as  of  some  tiny  swimmer 
struggling  to  reach  the  shore.  Eushing  to  its  rescue 
in  the  canoe,  I  found  a  yellow-rumped  warbler,  quite 
exhausted,  clinging  to  a  twig  that  hung  down  into 
the  water.  I  brought  the  drenched  and  helpless  thing 
to  camp,  and,  putting  it  into  a  basket,  hung  it  up 
to  dry.  An  hour  or  two  afterward  I  heard  it  flut- 
tering in  its  prison,  and,  cautiously  lifting  the  lid  to 
get  a  better  glimpse  of  the  lucky  captive,  it  darted 
out  and  was  gone  in  a  twinkling.  How  came  it  in 
the  water  ?  That  was  my  wonder,  and  I  can  only 
guess  that  it  was  a  young  bird  that  had  never  before 
flown  over  a  pond  of  water,  and,  seeing  the  clouds 
and  blue  sky  so  perfect  down  there,  thought  it  was 
a  vast  opening  or  gateway  into  another  summer  land, 
perhaps  a  short  cut  to  the  tropics,  and  so  got  itself 
into  trouble.  How  my  eye  was  delighted  also  with 
the  redbird  that  alighted  for  a  moment  on  a  dry 
branch  above  the  lake,  just  where  a  ray  of  light 
from  the  setting  sun  fell  full  upon  it !  A  mere  crim- 
son point,  and  yet  how  it  offset  that  dark,  sombre 
background ! 

I  have  thus  run  over  some  of  the  features  of  an 
ordinary  trouting  excursion  to  the  woods.  People 
inexperienced  in  such  matters,  sitting  in  their  rooms 
and  thinking  of  these  things,  of  all  the  poets  have 
sung  and  romancers  written,  are  apt  to  get  sadly 
taken  in  when  they  attempt  to  realize  their  dreams. 


SPECKLED   TROUT  123 

They  expect  to  enter  a  sylvan  paradise  of  trout,  cool 
retreats,  laughing  brooks,  picturesque  views,  bal- 
samic couches,  etc.,  instead  of  which  they  find  hun- 
ger, rain,  smoke,  toil,  gnats,  mosquitoes,  dirt,  broken 
rest,  vulgar  guides,  and  salt  pork;  and  they  are  very 
apt  not  to  see  where  the  fun  comes  in.  But  he  who 
goes  in  a  right  spirit  will  not  be  disappointed,  and 
will  find  the  taste  of  this  kind  of  life  better,  though 
bitterer,  than  the  writers  have  described. 


VI 

BIRDS   AND   BIRDS 


is  an  old  legend  which  one  of  our  poets 
-*-  has  made  use  of  about  the  bird  in  the  brain,  — 
a  legend  based,  perhaps,  upon  the  human  significance 
of  our  feathered  neighbors.  Was  not  Audubon's 
brain  full  of  birds,  and  very  lively  ones,  too?  A 
person  who  knew  him  says  he  looked  like  a  bird 
himself;  keen,  alert,  wide-eyed.  It  is  not  unusual 
to  see  the  hawk  looking  out  of  the  human  counte- 
nance, and  one  may  see  or  have  seen  that  still  nobler 
bird,  the  eagle.  The  song-birds  might  all  have  been 
brooded  and  hatched  in  the  human  heart.  They  are 
typical  of  its  highest  aspirations,  and  nearly  the 
whole  gamut  of  human  passion  and  emotion  is  ex- 
pressed more  or  less  fully  in  their  varied  songs. 
Among  our  own  birds,  there  is  the  song  of  the  her- 
mit thrush  for  devoutness  and  religious  serenity; 
that  of  the  wood  thrush  for  the  musing,  melodious 
thoughts  of  twilight;  the  song  sparrow's  for  simple 
faith  and  trust,  the  bobolink's  for  hilarity  and  glee, 
the  mourning  dove's  for  hopeless  sorrow,  the  vireo's 
for  all-day  and  every-day  contentment,  and  the  noc- 
turne of  the  mockingbird  for  love.  Then  there  are 


126  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

the  plaintive  singers,  the  soaring,  ecstatic  singers, 
the  confident  singers,  the  gushing  and  voluble  singers, 
and  the  half- voiced,  inarticulate  singers.  The  note 
of  the  wood  pewee  is  a  human  sigh;  the  chickadee 
has  a  call  full  of  unspeakable  tenderness  and  fidelity. 
There  is  pride  in  the  song  of  the  tanager,  and  vanity 
in  that  of  the  catbird.  There  is  something  distinctly 
human  about  the  robin;  his  is  the  note  of  boyhood. 
I  have  thoughts  that  follow  the  migrating  fowls 
northward  and  southward,  and  that  go  with  the  sea- 
birds  into  the  desert  of  the  ocean,  lonely  and  tireless 
as  they.  I  sympathize  with  the  watchful  crow 
perched  yonder  on  that  tree,  or  walking  about  the 
fields.  I  hurry  outdoors  when  I  hear  the  clarion  of 
the  wild  gander;  his  comrade  in  my  heart  sends 
back  the  call. 


Here  conies  the  cuckoo,  the  solitary,  the  joyless, 
enamored  of  the  privacy  of  his  own  thoughts;  when 
did  he  fly  away  out  of  this  brain?  The  cuckoo  is 
one  of  the  famous  birds,  and  is  known  the  world 
over.  He  is  mentioned  in  the  Bible,  and  is  dis- 
cussed by  Pliny  and  Aristotle.  Jupiter  himself 
once  assumed  the  form  of  the  cuckoo  in  order  to 
take  advantage  of  Juno's  cbmpassion  for  the  bird. 

We  have  only  a  reduced  and  modified"  cuckoo  in 
this  country.  Our  bird  is  smaller,  and  is  much  more 
solitary  and  unsocial.  Its  color  is  totally  different 
from  the  Old  World  bird,  the  latter  being  speckled, 
or  a  kind  of  dominick,  while  ours  is  of  the  finest 


BIRDS  AND   BIRDS  127 

cinnamon-brown  or  drab  above,  and  bluish  white 
beneath,  with  a  gloss  and  richness  of  texture  in  the 
plumage  that  suggests  silk.  The  bird  has  also 
mended  its  manners  in  this  country,  and  no  longer 
foists  its  eggs  and  young  upon  other  birds,  but  builds 
a  nest  of  its  own  and  rears  its  own  brood  like  other 
well-disposed  birds. 

The  European  cuckoo  is  evidently  much  more  of 
a  spring  bird  than  ours  is,  much  more  a  harbinger 
of  the  early  season.  He  comes  in  April,  while  ours 
seldom  appears  till  late  in  May,  and  hardly  then 
appears.  He  is  printed,  as  they  say,  but  not  pub- 
lished. Only  the  alert  ones  know  he  is  here.  This 
old  English  rhyme  on  the  cuckoo  does  not  apply  this 
side  the  Atlantic:  — 

"In  April 
Come  he  will, 
In  flow'ry  May 
He  sings  all  day, 
In  leafy  June 
He  changes  his  tune, 
In  bright  July 
He  'a  ready  to  fly, 
In  August 
Go  he  must." 

Our  bird  must  go  in  August,  too,  but  at  no  time 
does  he  sing  all  day.  Indeed,  his  peculiar  guttural 
call  has  none  of  the  character  of  a  song.  It  is  a 
solitary,  hermit-like  sound,  as  if  the  bird  were  alone 
in  the  world,  and  called  upon  the  Fates  to  witness 
his  desolation.  I  have  never  seen  two  cuckoos  to- 
gether, and  I  have  never  heard  their  call  answered; 
it  goes  forth  into  the  solitudes  unreclaimed.  Like 


128  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

a  true  American,  the  bird  lacks  animal  spirits  and  a 
genius  for  social  intercourse.  One  August  night  I 
heard  one  calling,  calling,  a  long  time,  not  far  from 
my  house.  It  was  a  true  night  sound,  more  fitting 
then  than  by  day. 

The  European  cuckoo,  on  the  other  hand,  seems 
to  be  a  joyous,  vivacious  bird.  Wordsworth  applies 
to  it  the  adjective  "blithe,"  and  says:  — 

"  I  hear  thee  babbling  to  the  vale 
Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers." 

English  writers  all  agree  that  its  song  is  animated 
and  pleasing,  and  the  outcome  of  a  light  heart. 
Thomas  Hardy,  whose  touches  always  seem  true  to 
nature,  describes  in  one  of  his  books  an  early  sum- 
mer scene  from  amid  which  "  the  loud  notes  of  three 
cuckoos  were  resounding  through  the  still  air."  This 
is  totally  unlike  our  bird,  which  does  not  sing  in 
concert,  but  affects  remote  woods,  and  is  most  fre- 
quently heard  in  cloudy  weather.  Hence  the  name 
of  rain-crow  that  is  applied  to  him  in  some  parts  of 
the  country.  I  am  more  than  half  inclined  to  be- 
lieve that  his  call  does  indicate  rain,  as  it  is  certain 
that  of  the  tree-toad  does. 

The  cuckoo  has  a  slender,  long-drawn-out  appear- 
ance on  account  of  the  great  length  of  tail.  It  is 
seldom  seen  about  farms  or  near  human  habitations 
until  the  June  canker-worm  appears,  when  it  makes 
frequent  visits  to  the  orchard.  It  loves  hairy  worms, 
and  has  eaten  so  many  of  them  that  its  gizzard  is 
lined  with  hair. 

The  European  cuckoo  builds  no  nest,  but  puts  its 


BIEDS  AND   BIRDS  129 

eggs  out  to  be  hatched,  as  does  our  cow  blackbird, 
and  our  cuckoo  is  master  of  only  the  rudiments  of 
nest-building.  No  other  bird  in  the  woods  builds 
so  shabby  a  nest ;  it  is  the  merest  makeshift,  —  a 
loose  scaffolding  of  twigs  through  which  the  eggs  can 
be  seen.  One  season,  I  knew  of  a  pair  that  built 
within  a  few  feet  of  a  country  house  that  stood  in 
the  midst  of  a  grove,  but  a  heavy  storm  of  rain  and 
wind  broke  up  the  nest. 

If  the  Old  World  cuckoo  had  been  as  silent  and 
retiring  a  bird  as  ours  is,  it  could  never  have  figured 
so  conspicuously  in  literature  as  it  does,  —  having  a 
prominence  that  we  would  give  only  to  the  bobolink 
or  to  the  wood  thrush,  —  as  witness  his  frequent 
mention  by  Shakespeare,  or  the  following  early  Eng- 
lish ballad  (in  modern  guise) :  — 

"  Summer  is  come  in, 
Loud  sings  the  cuckoo ; 
Groweth  seed  and  bloweth  mead, 
And  springs  the  wood  now. 

Sing,  cuckoo ; 
The  ewe  bleateth  for  her  lamb, 

The  cow  loweth  for  her  calf, 

The  bullock  starteth. 
The  buck  verteth, 
Merrily  sings  the  cuckoo 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo  ; 
Well  sings  the  cuckoo, 
Mayest  thou  never  cease." 


I  think  it  will  be  found,  on  the  whole,  that  the 
European  birds  are  a  more  hardy  and  pugnacious 
race  than  ours,  and  that  their  song-birds  have  more 


130  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

vivacity  and  power,  and  ours  more  melody  and  plain- 
tiveness.  In  the  song  of  the  skylark,  for  instance, 
there  is  little  or  no  melody,  but  wonderful  strength 
and  copiousness.  It  is  a  harsh  strain  near  at  hand, 
but  very  taking  when  showered  down  from  a  height 
of  several  hundred  feet. 

Daines  Barrington,  the  naturalist  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, to  whom  White  of  Selborne  addressed  so  many 
of  his  letters,  gives  a  table  of  the  comparative  merit 
of  seventeen  leading  song-birds  of  Europe,  marking 
them  under  the  heads  of  mellowness,  sprightliness, 
plaintiveness,  compass  and  execution.  In  the  aggre- 
gate, the  songsters  stand  highest  in  sprightliness, 
next  in  compass  and  execution,  and  lowest  in  the 
other  two  qualities.  A  similar  arrangement  and 
comparison  of  our  songsters,  I  think,  would  show  an 
opposite  result,  —  that  is,  a  predominance  of  melody 
and  plaintiveness.  The  British  wren,  for  instance, 
stands  in  Barrington' s  table  as  destitute  of  both 
these  qualities;  the  reed  sparrow  also.  Our  wren- 
songs,  on  the  contrary,  are  gushing  and  lyrical,  and 
more  or  less  melodious,  —  that  of  the  winter  wren 
being  preeminently  so.  Our  sparrows,  too,  all  have 
sweet,  plaintive  ditties,  with  but  little  sprightliness 
or  compass.  The  English  house  sparrow  has  no  song 
at  all,  but  a  harsh  chatter  that  is  unmatched  among 
our  birds.  But  what  a  hardy,  prolific,  pugnacious 
little  wretch  it  is !  They  will  maintain  themselves 
where  our  birds  will  not  live  at  all,  and  a  pair  of 
them  will  lie  down  in  the  gutter  and  fight  like  dogs. 
Compared  with  this  miniature  John  Bull,  the  voice 


BIRDS   AND   BIRDS  131 

and  manners  of  our  common  sparrow  are  gentle  and 
retiring.  The  English  sparrow  is  a  street  gamin, 
our  bird  a  timid  rustic. 

The  English  robin  redbreast  is  tallied  in  this 
country  by  the  bluebird,  which  was  called  by  the 
early  settlers  of  New  England  the  blue  robin.  The 
song  of  the  British  bird  is  bright  and  aminated,  that 
of  our  bird  soft  and  plaintive. 

The  nightingale  stands  at  the  head  in  Barrington's 
table,  and  is  but  little  short  of  perfect  in  all  the 
qualities.  We  have  no  one  bird  that  combines 
such  strength  or  vivacity  with  such  melody.  The 
mockingbird  doubtless  surpasses  it  in  variety  and 
profusion  of  notes;  but  falls  short,  I  imagine,  in 
sweetness  and  effectiveness.  The  nightingale  will 
sometimes  warble  twenty  seconds  without  pausing 
to  breathe,  and  when  the  condition  of  the  air  is 
favorable  its  song  fills  a  space  a  mile  in  diameter. 
There  are,  perhaps,  songs  in  our  woods  as  mellow 
and  brilliant,  as  is  that  of  the  closely  allied  species, 
the  water- thrush ;  but  our  bird's  song  has  but  a  mere 
fraction  of  the  nightingale's  volume  and  power. 

Strength  and  volume  of  voice,  then,  seem  to  be 
characteristic  of  the  English  birds,  and  mildness  and 
delicacy  of  ours.  How  much  the  thousands  of  years 
of  contact  with  man,  and  familiarity  with  artificial 
sounds,  over  there,  have  affected  the  bird  voices,  is 
a  question.  Certain  it  is  that  their  birds  are  much 
more  domestic  than  ours,  and  certain  it  is  that  all 
purely  wild  sounds  are  plaintive  and  elusive.  Even 
of  the  bark  of  the  fox,  the  cry  of  the  panther,  the 


132  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

voice  of  the  coon,  or  the  call  and  clang  of  wild  geese 
and  ducks,  or  the  war-cry  of  savage  tribes,  is  this 
true ;  but  not  true  in  the  same  sense  of  domesticated 
or  semi- domesticated  animals  and  fowls.  How  differ- 
ent the  voice  of  the  common  duck  or  goose  from  that 
of  the  wild  species,  or  of  the  tame  dove  from  that 
of  the  turtle  of  the  fields  and  groves !  Where  could 
the  English  house  sparrow  have  acquired  that  un- 
musical voice  but  amid  the  sounds  of  hoofs  and 
wheels,  and  the  discords  of  the  street?  And  the 
ordinary  notes  and  calls  of  so  many  of  the  British 
birds,  according  to  their  biographers,  are  harsh  and 
disagreeable;  even  the  nightingale  has  an  ugly,  gut- 
tural "chuck."  The  missel-thrush  has  a  harsh 
scream;  the  jay  a  note  like  "wrack,"  "wrack;  "  the 
fieldfare  a  rasping  chatter;  the  blackbird,  which  is 
our  robin  cut  in  ebony,  will  sometimes  crow  like  a 
cock  and  cackle  like  a  hen;  the  flocks  of  starlings 
make  a  noise  like  a  steam  saw-mill;  the  whitethroat 
has  a  disagreeable  note ;  the  swift  a  discordant  scream ; 
and  the  bunting  a  harsh  song.  Among  our  song- 
birds, on  the  contrary,  it  is  rare  to  hear  a  harsh  or 
displeasing  voice.  Even  their  notes  of  anger  and 
alarm  are  more  or  less  soft. 

I  would  not  imply  that  our  birds  are  the  better 
songsters,  but  that  their  songs,  if  briefer  and  feebler, 
are  also  more  wild  and  plaintive,  —  in  fact,  that  they 
are  softer-voiced.  The  British  birds,  as  I  have 
stated,  are  more  domestic  than  ours;  a  much  larger 
number  build  about  houses  and  towers  and  outbuild- 
ings. The  titmouse  with  us  is  exclusively  a  wood- 


BIEDS  AND   BIRDS  133 

bird;  but  in  Britain  three  or  four  species  of  them 
resort  more  or  less  to  buildings  in  winter.  Their 
redstart  also  builds  under  the  eaves  of  houses ;  their 
starling  in  church  steeples  and  in  holes  in  walls; 
several  thrushes  resort  to  sheds  to  nest;  and  jack- 
daws breed  in  the  crannies  of  the  old  architecture, 
and  this  in  a  much  milder  climate  than  our  own. 

They  have  in  that  country  no  birds  that  answer 
to  our  tiny,  lisping  wood- warblers,  —  genus  Den- 
droica,  —  nor  to  our  vireos,  Vireonldce.  On  the 
other  hand,  they  have  a  larger  number  of  field-birds 
and  semi-game-birds.  They  have  several  species 
like  our  robin ;  thrushes  like  him,  and  some  of  them 
larger,  as  the  ring  ouzel,  the  missel-thrush,  the  field- 
fare, the  throstle,  the  redwing,  White's  thrush,  the 
blackbird,  —  these,  besides  several  species  in  size 
and  habits  more  like  our  wood  thrush. 

Several  species  of  European  birds  sing  at  night 
besides  the  true  nightingale,  —  not  fitfully  and  as  if 
in  their  dreams,  as  do  a  few  of  our  birds,  but  con- 
tinuously. They  make  a  business  of  it.  The  sedge- 
bird  ceases  at  times  as  if  from  very  weariness;  but 
wake  the  bird  up,  says  White,  by  throwing  a  stick 
or  stone  into  the  bushes,  and  away  it  goes  again  in 
full  song.  We  have  but  one  real  nocturnal  songster, 
and  that  is  the  mockingbird.  One  can  see  how  this 
habit  might  increase  among  the  birds  of  a  long-set- 
tled country  like  England.  With  sounds  and  voices 
about  them,  why  should  they  be  silent,  too  ?  The 
danger  of  betraying  themselves  to  their  natural  ene- 
mies would  be  less  than  in  our  woods. 


134  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

That  their  birds  are  more  quarrelsome  and  pugna- 
cious than  ours  I  think  evident.  Our  thrushes  are 
especially  mild-mannered,  Irat  the  missel-thrush  is 
very  bold  and  saucy,  and  has  been  known  to  fly  in 
the  face  of  persons  who  have  disturbed  the  sitting 
bird.  No  jay  nor  magpie  nor  crow  can  stand  before 
him.  The  Welsh  call  him  master  of  the  coppice, 
and  he  welcomes  a  storm  with  such  a  vigorous  and 
hearty  song  that  in  some  countries  he  is  known  as 
storm-cock.  He  sometimes  kills  the  young  of  other 
birds  and  eats  eggs,  —  a  very  unthrushlike  trait. 
The  whitethroat  sings  with  crest  erect,  and  attitudes 
of  warning  and  defiance.  The  hooper  is  a  great 
bully;  so  is  the  greenfinch.  The  wood-grouse  — 
now  extinct,  I  believe  —  has  been  known  to  attack 
people  in  the  woods.  And  behold  the  grit  and  har- 
dihood of  that  little  emigrant  or  exile  to  our  shores, 
the  English  sparrow !  Our  birds  have  their  tilts  and 
spats  also;  but  the  only  really  quarrelsome  mem- 
bers in  our  family  are  confined  to  the  flycatchers,  as 
the  kingbird  and  great  crested  flycatcher.  None  of 
our  song-birds  are  bullies. 

Many  of  our  more  vigorous  species,  as  the  butcher- 
bird, the  crossbills,  the  pine  grosbeak,  the  redpoll, 
the  Bohemian  chatterer,  the  shore  lark,  the  longspur, 
the  snow  bunting,  etc.,  are  common  to  both  conti- 
nents. 

Have  the  Old  World  creatures  throughout  more 
pluck  and  hardihood  than  those  that  are  indigenous 
to  this  continent?  Behold  the  common  mouse,  how 
he  has  followed  man  to  this  country  and  established 


BIRDS   AND  BIRDS  135 

himself  here  against  all  opposition,  overrunning  our 
houses  and  barns,  while  the  native  species  is  rarely 
seen.  And  when  has  anybody  seen  the  American 
rat,  while  his  congener  from  across  the  water  has 
penetrated  to  every  part  of  the  continent !  By  the 
next  train  that  takes  the  family  to  some  Western 
frontier,  arrives  this  pest.  Both  our  rat  and  mouse 
or  mice  are  timid,  harmless,  delicate  creatures,  com- 
pared with  the  cunning,  filthy,  and  prolific  speci- 
mens that  have  fought  their  way  to  us  from  the  Old 
World.  There  is  little  doubt,  also,  that  the  red  fox 
has  been  transplanted  to  this  country  from  Europe. 
He  is  certainly  on  the  increase,  and  is  fast  running 
out  the  native  gray  species. 

Indeed,  I  have  thought  that  all  forms  of  life  in 
the  Old  World  were  marked  by  greater  prominence 
of  type,  or  stronger  characteristic  and  fundamental 
qualities,  than  with  us,  —  coarser  and  more  hairy 
and  virile,  and  therefore  more  powerful  and  lasting. 
This  opinion  is  still  subject  to  revision,  but  I  find 
it  easier  to  confirm  it  than  to  undermine  it. 


But  let  me  change  the  strain  and  contemplate  for 
a  few  moments  this  feathered  bandit,  —  this  bird 
with  the  mark  of  Cain  upon  him,  Lanius  borealis, 
—  the  great  shrike  or  butcher-bird.  Usually  the 
character  of  a  bird  of  prey  is  well  defined;  there  is 
no  mistaking  him.  His  claws,  his  beak,  his  head, 
his  wings,  in  fact  his  whole  build,  point  to  the  fact 
that  he  subsists  upon  live  creatures;  he  is  armed  to 


136  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

catch  them  and  to  slay  them.  Every  bird  knows  a 
hawk  and  knows  him  from  the  start,  and  is  on  the 
lookout  for  him.  The  hawk  takes  life,  but  he  does 
it  to  maintain  his  own,  and  it  is  a  public  and  uni- 
versally known  fact.  Nature  has  sent  him  abroad 
in  that  character,  and  has  advised  all  creatures  of  it. 
Not  so  with  the  shrike;  here  she  has  concealed  the 
character  of  a  murderer  under  a  form  as  innocent  as 
that  of  the  robin.  Feet,  wings,  tail,  color,  head, 
and  general  form  and  size  are  all  those  of  a  song-bird, 
—  very  much  like  that  master  songster,  the  mocking- 
bird, —  yet  this  bird  is  a  regular  Bluebeard  among  its 
kind.  Its  only  characteristic  feature  is  its  beak,  the 
upper  mandible  having  two  sharp  processes  and  a 
sharp  hooked  point.  It  cannot  fly  away  to  any  dis- 
tance with  the  bird  it  kills,  nor  hold  it  in  its  claws 
to  feed  upon  it.  It  usually  impales  its  victim  upon 
a  thorn,  or  thrusts  it  in  the  fork  of  a  limb.  For  the 
most  part,  however,  its  food  seems  to  consist  of  in- 
sects, —  spiders,  grasshoppers,  beetles,  etc.  It  is  the 
assassin  of  the  small  birds,  whom  it  often  destroys 
in  pure  wantonness,  or  merely  to  sup  on  their  brains, 
as  the  Gaucho  slaughters  a  wild  cow  or  bull  for  its 
tongue.  It  is  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing.  Appar- 
ently its  victims  are  unacquainted  with  its  true  char- 
acter and  allow  it  to  approach  them,  when  the  fatal 
blow  is  given.  I  saw  an  illustration  of  this  the  other 
day.  A  large  number  of  goldfinches  in  their  full 
plumage,  together  with  snowbirds  and  sparrows, 
were  feeding  and  chattering  in  some  low  bushes  back 
of  the  barn.  I  had  paused  by  the  fence  and  was 


BIRDS   AND   BIRDS  137 

peeping  through  at  them,  hoping  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
that  rare  sparrow,  the  white-crowned.  Presently  I 
heard  a  rustling  among  the  dry  leaves  as  if  some 
larger  bird  was  also  among  them.  Then  I  heard  one 
of  the  goldfinches  cry  out  as  if  in  distress,  when  the 
whole  flock  of  them  started  up  in  alarm,  and,  circling 
around,  settled  in  the  tops  of  the  larger  trees.  I 
continued  my  scrutiny  of  the  bushes,  when  I  saw  a 
large  bird,  with  some  object  in  its  beak,  hopping 
along  on  a  low  branch  near  the  ground.  It  disap- 
peared from  my  sight  for  a  few  moments,  then  came 
up  through  the  undergrowth  into  the  top  of  a  young 
maple  where  some  of  the  finches  had  alighted,  and 
I  beheld  the  shrike.  The  little  birds  avoided  him 
and  flew  about  the  tree,  their  pursuer  following  them 
with  the  motions  of  his  head  and  body  as  if  he  would 
fain  arrest  them  by  his  murderous  gaze.  The  birds 
did  not  utter  the  cry  or  make  the  demonstration  of 
alarm  they  usually  do  on  the  appearance  of  a  hawk, 
but  chirruped  and  called  and  flew  about  in  a  half- 
wondering,  half-bewildered  manner.  As  they  flew 
farther  along  the  line  of  trees  the  shrike  followed 
them  as  if  bent  on  further  captures.  I  then  made 
my  way  around  to  see  what  the  shrike  had  caught, 
and  what  he  had  done  with  his  prey.  As  I  ap- 
proached the  bushes  I  saw  the  shrike  hastening 
back.  I  read  his  intentions  at  once.  Seeing  my 
movements,  he  had  returned  for  his  game.  But  I 
was  too  quick  for  him,  and  he  got  up  out  of  the 
brush  and  flew  away  from  the  locality.  On  some 
twigs  in  the  thickest  part  of  the  bushes  I  found  his 


138  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

victim,  — a  goldfinch.  It  was  not  impaled  upon  a 
thorn,  but  was  carefully  disposed  upon  some  horizon- 
tal twigs,  —  laid  upon  the  shelf,  so  to  speak.  It  was 
as  warm  as  in  life,  and  its  plumage  was  unruffled. 
On  examining  it  I  found  a  large  bruise  or  break  in 
the  skin  on  the  back  of  the  neck,  at  the  base  of  the 
skull.  Here  the  bandit  had  no  doubt  griped  the 
bird  with  his  strong  beak.  The  shrike's  blood  thirs- 
tiness  was  seen  in  the  fact  that  it  did  not  stop  to 
devour  its  prey,  but  went  in  quest  of  more,  as  if 
opening  a  market  of  goldfinches.  The  thicket  was 
his  shambles,  and  if  not  interrupted  he  might  have 
had  a  fine  display  of  tidbits  in  a  short  time. 

The  shrike  is  called  a  butcher  from  his  habit  of 
sticking  his  meat  upon  hooks  and  points;  further 
than  that,  he  is  a  butcher  because  he  devours  but  a 
trifle  of  what  he  slays. 

A  few  days  before,  I  had  witnessed  another  little 
scene  in  which  the  shrike  was  the  chief  actor.  A 
chipmunk  had  his  den  in  the  side  of  the  terrace 
above  the  garden,  and  spent  the  mornings  laying  in 
a  store  of  corn  which  he  stole  from  a  field  ten  or 
twelve  rods  away.  In  traversing  about  half  this 
distance,  the  little  poacher  was  exposed;  the  first 
cover  going  from  his  den  was  a  large  maple,  where 
he  always  brought  up  and  took  a  survey  of  the  scene. 
I  would  see  him  spinning  along  toward  the  maple, 
then  from  it  by  an  easy  stage  to  the  fence  adjoin- 
ing the  corn;  then  back  again  with  his  booty.  One 
morning  I  paused  to  watch  him  more  at  my  leisure. 
He  came  up  out  of  his  retreat  and  cocked  himself 


BIKDS  AND  BIRDS  139 

up  to  see  what  my  motions  meant.  His  forepaws 
were  clasped  to  his  breast  precisely  as  if  they  had 
been  hands,  and  the  tips  of  the  fingers  thrust  into 
his  vest  pockets.  Having  satisfied  himself  with  ref- 
erence to  me,  he  sped  on  toward  the  tree.  He  had 
nearly  reached  it,  when  he  turned  tail  and  rushed 
for  his  hole  with  the  greatest  precipitation.  As  he 
neared  it,  I  saw  some  bluish  object  in  the  air  closing 
in  upon  him  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow,  and,  as  he 
vanished  within,  a  shrike  brought  up  in  front  of  the 
spot,  and  with  spread  wings  and  tail  stood  hovering 
a  moment,  and,  looking  in,  then  turned  and  went 
away.  Apparently  it  was  a  narrow  escape  for  the 
chipmunk,  and,  I  venture  to  say,  he  stole  no  more 
corn  that  morning.  The  shrike  is  said  to  catch  mice, 
but  it  is  not  known  to  attack  squirrels.  He  certainly 
could  not  have  strangled  the  chipmunk,  and  I  am 
curious  to  know  what  would  have  been  the  result 
had  he  overtaken  him.  Probably  it  was  only  a  kind 
of  brag  on  the  part  of  the  bird,  —  a  bold  dash  where 
no  risk  was  run.  He  simulated  the  hawk,  the  squir- 
rel's real  enemy,  and  no  doubt  enjoyed  the  joke. 

On  another  occasion,  as  I  was  riding  along  a  moun- 
tain road  early  in  April,  a  bird  started  from  the 
fence  where  I  was  passing,  and  flew  heavily  to  the 
branch  of  a  near  apple-tree.  It  proved  to  be  a  shrike 
with  a  small  bird  in  his  beak.  He  thrust  his  victim 
into  a  fork  of  a  branch,  then  wiped  his  bloody  beak 
upon  the  bark.  A  youth  who  was  with  me,  to  whom 
I  pointed  out  the  fact,  had  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing,  and  was  much  incensed  at  the  shrike.  "Let 


140  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

me  fire  a  stone  at  him,"  said  he,  and  jumping  out 
of  the  wagon  he  pulled  off  his  mittens,  and  fumbled 
about  for  a  stone.  Having  found  one  to  his  liking, 
with  great  earnestness  and  deliberation  he  let  drive. 
The  bird  was  in  more  danger  than  I  had  imagined, 
for  he  escaped  only  by  a  hair's  breadth;  a  guiltless 
bird  like  the  robin  or  sparrow  would  surely  have 
been  slain;  the  missile  grazed  the  spot  where  the 
shrike  sat,  and  cut  the  ends  of  his  wings  as  he  darted 
behind  the  branch.  We  could  see  that  the  murdered 
bird  had  been  brained,  as  its  head  hung  down  to- 
ward us. 

The  shrike  is  not  a  summer  bird  with  us  in  the 
Northern  States,  but  mainly  a  fall  and  winter  one; 
in  summer  he  goes  farther  north.  I  see  him  most 
frequently  in  November  and  December.  I  recall  a 
morning  during  the  former  month  that  was  singularly 
clear  and  motionless;  the  air  was  like  a  great  drum. 
Apparently  every  sound  within  the  compass  of  the 
horizon  was  distinctly  heard.  The  explosions  back 
in  the  cement  quarries  ten  miles  away  smote  the  hol- 
low and  reverberating  air  like  giant  fists.  Just  as 
the  sun  first  showed  his  fiery  brow  above  the  hori- 
zon, a  gun  was  discharged  over  the  river.  On  the 
instant  a  shrike,  perched  on  the  topmost  spray  of  a 
maple  above  the  house,  set  up  a  loud,  harsh  call  or 
whistle,  suggestive  of  certain  notes  of  the  blue  jay. 
The  note  presently  became  a  crude,  broken  warble. 
Even  this  scalper  of  the  innocents  had  music  in  his 
soul  on  such  a  morning.  He  saluted  the  sun  as  a 
robin  might  have  done.  After  he  had  finished  he 
flew  away  toward  the  east. 


BIRDS   AND   BIRDS  141 

The  shrike  is  a  citizen  of  the  world,  being  found 
in  both  hemispheres.  It  does  not  appear  that  the 
European  species  differs  essentially  from  our  own. 
In  Germany  he  is  called  the  nine-killer,  from  the 
belief  that  he  kills  and  sticks  upon  thorns  nine 
grasshoppers  a  day. 

To  make  my  portrait  of  the  shrike  more  complete, 
I  will  add  another  trait  of  him  described  by  an  acute 
observer  who  writes  me  from  western  New  York. 
He  saw  the  bird  on  a  bright  midwinter  morning 
when  the  thermometer  stood  at  zero,  and  by  cautious 
approaches  succeeded  in  getting  under  the  apple-tree 
upon  which  he  was  perched.  The  shrike  was  utter- 
ing a  loud,  clear  note  like  clu-eet,  clu-eet,  clu-eet, 
and,  on  finding  he  had  a  listener  who  was  attentive 
and  curious,  varied  his  performance  and  kept  it 
up  continuously  for  fifteen  minutes.  He  seemed  to 
enjoy  having  a  spectator,  and  never  took  his  eye  off 
him.  The  observer  approached  within  twenty  feet 
of  him.  "As  I  came  near,"  he  says,  "the  shrike 
began  to  scold  at  me,  a  sharp,  buzzing,  squeaking 
sound  not  easy  to  describe.  After  a  little  he  came 
out  on  the  end  of  the  limb  nearest  me,  then  he  posed 
himself,  and,  opening  his  wings  a  little,  began  to 
trill  and  warble  under  his  breath,  as  it  were,  with 
an  occasional  squeak,  and  vibrating  his  half-open 
wings  in  time  with  his  song."  Some  of  his  notes 
resembled  those  of  the  bluebird,  and  the  whole  per- 
formance is  described  as  pleasing  and  melodious. 

This  account  agrees  with  Thoreau's  observation, 
where  he  speaks  of  the  shrike  "  with  heedless  and 


142  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

unfrozen  melody  bringing  back  summer  again." 
Sings  Thoreau :  — 

"  His  steady  sails  he  never  furls 

At  any  time  o'  year, 
And  perching  now  on  winter's  curls, 
He  whistles  in  his  ear." 

But  his  voice  is  that  of  a  savage,  —  strident  and  dis- 
agreeable. 

I  have  often  wondered  how  this  bird  was  kept  in 
check;  in  the  struggle  for  existence  it  would  appear 
to  have  greatly  the  advantage  of  other  birds.  It 
cannot,  for  instance,  be  beset  with  one  tenth  of  the 
dangers  that  threaten  the  robin,  and  yet  apparently 
there  are  a  thousand  robins  to  every  shrike.  It 
builds  a  warm,  compact  nest  in  the  mountains  and 
dense  woods,  and  lays  six  eggs,  which  would  indi- 
cate a  rapid  increase.  The  pigeon  lays  but  two  eggs, 
and  is  preyed  upon  by  both  man  and  beast,  millions 
of  them  meeting  a  murderous  death  every  year;  yet 
always  some  part  of  the  country  is  swarming  with 
untold  numbers  of  them.1  But  the  shrike  is  one  of 
our  rarest  birds.  I  myself  seldom  see  more  than 
two  each  year,  and  before  I  became  an  observer  of 
birds  I  never  saw  any. 

In  size  the  shrike  is  a  little  inferior  to  the  blue 
jay,  with  much  the  same  form.  If  you  see  an  un- 
known bird  about  your  orchard  or  fields  in  Novem- 
ber or  December  of  a  bluish  grayish  complexion, 
with  dusky  wings  and  tail  that  show  markings  of 
white,  flying  rather  heavily  from  point  to  point,  or 

1  This  is  no  longer  the  case.  The  passenger  pigeon  now  seems 
on  the  verge  of  extinction  (1895). 


BIRDS   AND   BIRDS  143 

alighting  down  in  the   stubble  occasionally,    it  is 
pretty  sure  to  be  the  shrike. 


Nature  never  tires  of  repeating  and  multiplying 
the  same  species.  She  makes  a  million  bees,  a  mil- 
lion birds,  a  million  mice  or  rats,  or  other  animals, 
so  nearly  alike  that  no  eye  can  tell  one  from  an- 
other; but  it  is  rarely  that  she  issues  a  small  and  a 
large  edition,  as  it  were,  of  the  same  species.  Yet 
she  has  done  it  in  a  few  cases  among  the  birds  with 
hardly  more  difference  than  a  foot-note  added  or 
omitted.  The  cedar-bird,  for  instance,  is  the  Bohe- 
mian waxwing  or  chatterer  in  smaller  type,  copied 
even  to  the  minute,  wax-like  appendages  that  bedeck 
the  ends  of  the  wing-quills.  It  is  about  one  third 
smaller,  and  a  little  lighter  in  color,  owing  perhaps 
to  the  fact  that  it  is  confined  to  a  warmer  latitude, 
its  northward  range  seeming  to  end  about  where  that 
of  its  larger  brother  begins.  Its  flight,  its  note,  its 
manners,  its  general  character  and  habits,  are  almost 
identical  with  those  of  its  prototype.  It  is  confined 
exclusively  to  this  continent,  while  the  chatterer  is 
an  Old  World  bird  as  well,  and  ranges  the  northern 
parts  of  both  continents.  The  latter  comes  to  us 
from  the  hyperborean  regions,  brought  down  occa- 
sionally by  the  great  cold  waves  that  originate  in 
those  high  latitudes.  It  is  a  bird  of  Siberian  and 
Alaskan  evergreens,  and  passes  its  life  for  the  most 
part  far  beyond  the  haunts  of  man.  I  have  never 
seen  the  bird,  but  small  bands  of  them  make  excur- 


144  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

sions  every  winter  down  into  our  territory  from 
British  America.  Audubon,  I  believe,  saw  them  in 
Maine ;  other  observers  have  seen  them  in  Minnesota. 
It  has  the  crest  of  the  cedar- bird,  the  same  yellow 
border  to  its  tail,  but  is  marked  with  white  on  its 
wings,  as  if  a  snowflake  or  two  had  adhered  to  it 
from  the  northern  cedars  and  pines.  If  you  see 
about  the  evergreens  in  the  coldest,  snowiest  weather 
what  appear  to  be  a  number  of  very  large  cherry- 
birds,  observe  them  well,  for  the  chances  are  that 
visitants  from  the  circumpolar  regions  are  before 
your  door.  It  is  a  sign,  also,  that  the  frost  legions 
of  the  north  are  out  in  great  force  and  carrying  all 
before  them. 

Our  cedar  or  cherry  bird  is  the  most  silent  bird 
we  have.  Our  neutral-tinted  birds,  like  him,  as  a 
rule,  are  our  finest  songsters;  but  he  has  no  song  or 
call,  uttering  only  a  fine  bead-like  note  on  taking 
flight.  This  note  is  the  cedar-berry  rendered  back 
in  sound.  When  the  ox-heart  cherries,  which  he 
has  only  recently  become  acquainted  with,  have  had 
time  to  enlarge  his  pipe  and  warm  his  heart,  I  shall 
expect  more  music  from  him.  But  in  lieu  of  music, 
what  a  pretty  compensation  are  those  minute,  almost 
artificial-like,  plumes  of  orange  and  vermilion  that 
tip  the  ends  of  his  primaries!  Nature  could  not 
give  him  these  and  a  song  too.  She  has  given  the 
hummingbird  a  jewel  upon  his  throat,  but  no  song, 
save  the  hum  of  his  wings. 

Another  bird  that  is  occasionally  borne  to  us  on 
the  crest  of  the  cold  waves  from  the  frozen  zone,  and 


BIRDS   AND   BIRDS  145 

that  is  repeated  on  a  smaller  scale  in  a  permanent 
resident,  is  the  pine  grosbeak ;  his  alter  ego,  reduced 
in  size,  is  the  purple  finch,  which  abounds  in  the 
higher  latitudes  of  the  temperate  zone.  The  color 
and  form  of  the  two  birds  are  again  essentially  the 
same.  The  females  and  young  males  of  both  species 
are  of  a  grayish  brown  like  the  sparrow,  while  in  the 
old  males  this  tint  is  imperfectly  hidden  beneath  a 
coat  of  carmine,  as  if  the  color  had  been  poured 
upon  their  heads,  where  it  is  strongest,  and  so  oozed 
down  and  through  the  rest  of  the  plumage.  Their 
tails  are  considerably  forked,  their  beaks  cone-shaped 
and  heavy,  and  their  flight  undulating.  Those  who 
have  heard  the  grosbeak  describe  its  song  as  similar 
to  that  of  the  finch,  though  no  doubt  it  is  louder 
and  stronger.  The  finch's  instrument  is  a  fife  tuned 
to  love  and  not  to  war.  He  blows  a  clear,  round 
note,  rapid  and  intricate,  but  full  of  sweetness  and 
melody.  His  hardier  relative  with  that  larger  beak 
and  deeper  chest  must  fill  the  woods  with  sounds. 
Audubon  describes  its  song  as  exceedingly  rich  and 
full. 

As  in  the  case  of  the  Bohemian  waxwing,  this  bird 
is  also  common  to  both  worlds,  being  found  through 
Northern  Europe  and  Asia  and  the  northern  parts  of 
this  continent.  It  is  the  pet  of  the  pine-tree  and 
one  of  its  brightest  denizens.  Its  visits  to  the  States 
are  irregular  and  somewhat  mysterious.  A  great 
flight  of  them  occurred  in  the  winter  of  1874-75. 
They  attracted  attention  all  over  the  country.  Sev- 
eral other  flights  of  them  have  occurred  during  the 


146  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

century.  When  this  bird  comes,  it  is  so  unac- 
quainted with  man  that  its  tameness  is  delightful  to 
behold.  It  thrives  remarkably  well  in  captivity, 
and  in  a  couple  of  weeks  will  become  so  tame  that 
it  will  hop  down  and  feed  out  of  its  master's  or  mis- 
tress's hand.  It  comes  from  far  beyond  the  region 
of  the  apple,  yet  it  takes  at  once  to  this  fruit,  or 
rather  to  the  seeds,  which  it  is  quick  to  divine,  at 
its  core. 

Close  akin  to  these  two  birds,  and  standing  in  the 
same  relation  to  each  other,  are  two  other  birds  that 
come  to  us  from  the  opposite  zone,  —  the  torrid,  — 
namely,  the  blue  grosbeak  and  his  petit  duplicate, 
the  indigo-bird.  The  latter  is  a  common  summer 
resident  with  us,  — a  bird  of  the  groves  and  bushy 
fields,  where  his  bright  song  may  be  heard  all  through 
the  long  summer  day.  I  hear  it  in  the  dry  and 
parched  August  when  most  birds  are  silent,  some- 
times delivered  on  the  wing  and  sometimes  from 
the  perch.  Indeed,  with  me  its  song  is  as  much 
a  midsummer  sound  as  is  the  brassy  crescendo 
of  the  cicada.  The  memory  of  its  note  calls  to 
mind  the  flame-like  quiver  of  the  heated  atmosphere 
and  the  bright  glare  of  the  meridian  sun.  Its  color 
is  much  more  intense  than  that  of  the  common  blue- 
bird, as  summer  skies  are  deeper  than  those  of  April, 
but  its  note  is  less  mellow  and  tender.  Its  original, 
the  blue  grosbeak,  is  an  uncertain  wanderer  from  the 
south,  as  the  pine  grosbeak  is  from  the  north.  I 
have  never  seen  it  north  of  the  District  of  Columbia. 
It  has  a  loud,  vivacious  song,  of  which  it  is  not 


BIRDS  AND   BIRDS  147 

stingy,  and  which  is  a  large  and  free  rendering  of 
the  indigo's,  and  belongs  to  summer  more  than  to 
spring.  The  bird  is  colored  the  same  as  its  lesser 
brother,  the  males  being  a  deep  blue  and  the  females 
a  modest  drab.  Its  nest  is  usually  placed  low  down, 
as  is  the  indigo's,  and  the  male  carols  from  the 
tops  of  the  trees  in  its  vicinity  in  the  same  manner. 
Indeed,  the  two  birds  are  strikingly  alike  in  every 
respect  except  in  size  and  in  habitat,  and,  as  in  each 
of  the  other  cases,  the  lesser  bird  is,  as  it  were,  the 
point,  the  continuation,  of  the  larger,  carrying  its 
form  and  voice  forward  as  the  reverberation  carries 
the  sound. 

I  know  the  ornithologists,  with  their  hair-split- 
tings, or  rather  feather-splittings,  point  out  many 
differences,  but  they  are  unimportant.  The  fractions 
may  not  agree,  but  the  whole  numbers  are  the  same. 


vn 

A  BED  OF  BOUGHS 

"TT7~HEN  Aaron  came  again  to  camp  and  tramp 
*  *  with  me,  or,  as  he  wrote,  "  to  eat  locusts  and 
wild  honey  with  me  in  the  wilderness,"  it  was  past 
the  middle  of  August,  and  the  festival  of  the  season 
neared  its  close.  We  were  belated  guests,  but  per- 
haps all  the  more  eager  on  that  account,  especially 
as  the  country  was  suffering  from  a  terrible  drought, 
and  the  only  promise  of  anything  fresh  or  tonic  or 
cool  was  in  primitive  woods  and  mountain  passes. 

"  Now,  my  friend, "  said  I,  "  we  can  go  to  Canada, 
or  to  the  Maine  woods,  or  to  the  Adirondacks,  and 
thus  have  a  whole  loaf  and  a  big  loaf  of  this  bread 
which  you  know  as  well  as  I  will  have  heavy  streaks 
in  it,  and  will  not  be  uniformly  sweet;  or  we  can 
seek  nearer  woods,  and  content  ourselves  with  one 
week  instead  of  four,  with  the  prospect  of  a  keen 
relish  to  the  last.  Four  sylvan  weeks  sound  well, 
but  the  poetry  is  mainly  confined  to  the  first  one. 
We  can  take  another  slice  or  two  of  the  Catskills, 
can  we  not,  without  being  sated  with  kills  and  di- 
viding ridges  ? " 

"Anywhere,"  replied  Aaron,  "so  that  we  have  a 
good  tramp  and  plenty  of  primitive  woods.  No 


150  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

doubt  we  should  find  good  browsing  on  Peakamoose, 
and  trout  enough  in  the  streams  at  its  base." 

So  without  further  ado  we  made  ready,  and  in 
due  time  found  ourselves,  with  our  packs  on  our 
backs,  entering  upon  a  pass  in  the  mountains  that 
led  to  the  valley  of  the  Rondout. 

The  scenery  was  wild  and  desolate  in  the  extreme, 
the  mountains  on  either  hand  looking  as  if  they  had 
been  swept  by  a  tornado  of  stone.  Stone  avalanches 
hung  suspended  on  their  sides,  or  had  shot  down  into 
the  chasm  below.  It  was  a  kind  of  Alpine  scenery 
where  crushed  and  broken  bowlders  covered  the  earth 
instead  of  snow. 

In  the  depressions  in  the  mountains  the  rocky 
fragments  seemed  to  have  accumulated,  and  to  have 
formed  what  might  be  called  stone  glaciers  that  were 
creeping  slowly  down. 

Two  hours'  march  brought  us  into  heavy  timber 
where  the  stone  cataclysm  had  not  reached,  and  be- 
fore long  the  soft  voice  of  the  Rondout  was  heard  in 
the  gulf  below  us.  We  paused  at  a  spring  run,  and 
I  followed  it  a  few  yards  down  its  mountain  stairway, 
carpeted  with  black  moss,  and  had  my  first  glimpse 
of  the  unknown  stream.  I  stood  upon  rocks  and 
looked  many  feet  down  into  a  still,  sunlit  pool  and 
saw  the  trout  disporting  themselves  in  the  transpar- 
ent water,  and  I  was  ready  to  encamp  at  once;  but 
my  companion,  who  had  not  been  tempted  by  the 
view,  insisted  upon  holding  to  our  original  purpose, 
which  was  to  go  farther  up  the  stream.  We  passed 
a  clearing  with  three  or  four  houses  and  a  saw-mill. 


A  BED   OF   BOUGHS  151 

The  dam  of  the  latter  was  filled  with  such  clear 
water  that  it  seemed  very  shallow,  and  not  ten  or 
twelve  feet  deep,  as  it  really  was.  The  fish  were  as 
conspicuous  as  if  they  had  been  in  a  pail. 

Two  miles  farther  up  we  suited  ourselves  and 
went  into  camp. 

If  there  ever  was  a  stream  cradled  in  the  rocks, 
detained  lovingly  by  them,  held  and  fondled  in  a 
rocky  lap  or  tossed  in  rocky  arms,  that  stream  is  the 
Kondout.  Its  course  for  several  miles  from  its  head 
is  over  the  stratified  rock,  and  into  this  it  has  worn 
a  channel  that  presents  most  striking  and  peculiar 
features.  Now  it  comes  silently  along  on  the  top 
of  the  rock,  spread  out  and  flowing  over  that  thick, 
dark  green  moss  that  is  found  only  in  the  coldest 
streams;  then  drawn  into  a  narrow  canal  only  four 
or  five  feet  wide,  through  which  it  shoots,  black  and 
rigid,  to  be  presently  caught  in  a  deep  basin  with 
shelving,  overhanging  rocks,  beneath  which  the 
phoebe-bird  builds  in  security,  and  upon  which  the 
fisherman  stands  and  casts  his  twenty  or  thirty  feet 
of  line  without  fear  of  being  thwarted  by  the  brush ; 
then  into  a  black,  well-like  pool,  ten  or  fifteen  feet 
deep,  with  a  smooth,  circular  wall  of  rock  on  one 
side  worn  by  the  water  through  long  ages;  or  else 
into  a  deep,  oblong  pocket,  into  which  and  out  of 
which  the  water  glides  without  a  ripple. 

The  surface  rock  is  a  coarse  sandstone  superincum- 
bent upon  a  lighter-colored  conglomerate  that  looked 
like  Shawangunk  grits,  and  when  this  latter  is 
reached  by  the  water  it  seems  to  be  rapidly  disinte- 


152  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

grated  by  it,  thus  forming  the  deep  excavations  al- 
luded to. 

My  eyes  had  never  before  beheld  such  beauty  in 
a  mountain  stream.  The  water  was  almost  as  trans- 
parent as  the  air,  — was,  indeed,  like  liquid  air;  and 
as  it  lay  in  these  wells  and  pits  enveloped  in  shadow, 
or  lit  up  by  a  chance  ray  of  the  vertical  sun,  it  was 
a  perpetual  feast  to  the  eye,  —  so  cool,  so  deep,  so 
pure;  every  reach  and  pool  like  a  vast  spring.  You 
lay  down  and  drank  or  dipped  the  water  up  in  your 
cup,  and  found  it  just  the  right  degree  of  refreshing 
coldness.  One  is  never  prepared  for  the  clearness 
of  the  water  in  these  streams.  It  is  always  a  sur- 
prise. See  them  every  year  for  a  dozen  years,  and 
yet,  when  you  first  come  upon  one,  you  will  utter 
an  exclamation.  I  saw  nothing  like  it  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks,  nor  in  Canada.  Absolutely  without  stain  or 
hint  of  impurity,  it  seems  to  magnify  like  a  lens,  so 
that  the  bed  of  the  stream  and  the  fish  in  it  appear 
deceptively  near.  It  is  rare  to  find  even  a  trout 
stream  that  is  not  a  little  "  off  color, "  as  they  say  of 
diamonds,  but  the  waters  in  the  section  of  which  I 
am  writing  have  the  genuine  ray ;  it  is  the  undimmed 
and  untarnished  diamond. 

If  I  were  a  trout,  I  should  ascend  every  stream 
till  I  found  the  Eondout.  It  is  the  ideal  brook. 
What  homes  these  fish  have,  what  retreats  under 
the  rocks,  what  paved  or  flagged  courts  and  areas, 
what  crystal  depths  where  no  net  or  snare  can  reach 
them !  —  no  mud,  no  sediment,  but  here  and  there 
in  the  clefts  and  seams  of  the  rock  patches  of  white 
gravel,  —  spawning  beds  ready-made. 


A  BED   OF  BOUGHS  153 

The  finishing  touch  is  given  by  the  moss  with 
which  the  rock  is  everywhere  carpeted.  Even  in 
the  narrow  grooves  or  channels  where  the  water  runs 
the  swiftest,  the  green  lining  is  unbroken.  It  sweeps 
down  under  the  stream  and  up  again  on  the  other 
side,  like  some  firmly-woven  texture.  It  softens 
every  outline  and  cushions  every  stone.  At  a  cer- 
tain depth  in  the  great  basins  and  wells  it  of  course 
ceases,  and  only  the  smooth-swept  flagging  of  the 
place-rock  is  visible. 

The  trees  are  kept  well  back  from  the  margin  of 
the  stream  by  the  want  of  soil,  and  the  large  ones 
unite  their  branches  far  above  it,  thus  forming  a 
high  winding  gallery,  along  which  the  fisherman 
passes  and  makes  his  long  casts  with  scarcely  an 
interruption  from  branch  or  twig.  In  a  few  places 
he  makes  no  cast,  but  sees  from  his  rocky  perch  the 
water  twenty  feet  below  him,  and  drops  his  hook 
into  it  as  into  a  well. 

We  made  camp  at  a  bend  in  the  creek  where  there 
was  a  large  surface  of  mossy  rock  uncovered  by  the 
shrunken  stream,  —  a  clean,  free  space  left  for  us  in 
the  wilderness  that  was  faultless  as  a  kitchen  and 
dining-room,  and  a  marvel  of  beauty  as  a  lounging- 
room,  or  an  open  court,  or  what  you  will.  An  ob- 
solete wood  or  bark  road  conducted  us  to  it,  and  dis- 
appeared up  the  hill  in  the  woods  beyond.  A  loose 
bowlder  lay  in  the  middle,  and  on  the  edge  next  the 
stream  were  three  or  four  large  natural  wash-basins 
scooped  out  of  the  rock,  and  ever  filled  ready  for 
use.  Our  lair  we  carved  out  of  the  thick  brush 


154  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

under  a  large  birch  on  the  bank.  Here  we  planted 
our  flag  of  smoke  and  feathered  our  nest  with  balsam 
and  hemlock  boughs  and  ferns,  and  laughed  at  your 
four  walls  and  pillows  of  down. 

Wherever  one  encamps  in  the  woods,  there  is 
home,  and  every  object  and  feature  about  the  place 
take  on  a  new  interest  and  assume  a  near  and  friendly 
relation  to  one. 

We  were  at  the  head  of  the  best  fishing.  There 
was  an  old  bark-clearing  not  far  off  which  afforded 
us  a  daily  dessert  of  most  delicious  blackberries,  — 
an  important  item  in  the  woods,  —  and  then  all  the 
features  of  the  place  —  a  sort  of  cave  above  ground 
—  were  of  the  right  kind. 

There  was  not  a  mosquito,  or  gnat,  or  other  pest 
in  the  woods,  the  cool  nights  having  already  cut 
them  off.  The  trout  were  sufficiently  abundant,  and 
afforded  us  a  few  hours'  sport  daily  to  supply  our 
wants.  The  only  drawback  was,  that  they  were  out 
of  season,  and  only  palatable  to  a  woodman's  keen 
appetite.  What  is  this  about  trout  spawning  in 
October  and  November,  and  in  some  cases  not  till 
March?  These  trout  had  all  spawned  in  August, 
every  one  of  them.  The  coldness  and  purity  of  the 
water  evidently  made  them  that  much  earlier.  The 
game  laws  of  the  State  protect  the  fish  after  Septem- 
ber first,  proceeding  upon  the  theory  that  its  spawn- 
ing season  is  later  than  that,  —  as  it  is  in  many 
cases,  but  not  in  all,  as  we  found  out. 

The  fish  are  small  in  these  streams,  seldom  weigh- 
ing over  a  few  ounces.  Occasionally  a  large  one  is 


A  BED   OF  BOUGHS  155 

seen  of  a  pound  or  pound  and  a  half  weight.  I  re- 
member one  such,  as  black  as  night,  that  ran  under 
a  black  rock.  But  I  remember  much  more  distinctly 
a  still  larger  one  that  I  caught  and  lost  one  event- 
ful day. 

I  had  him  on  my  hook  ten  minutes,  and  actually 
got  my  thumb  in  his  mouth,  and  yet  he  escaped. 

It  was  only  the  over-eagerness  of  the  sportsman. 
I  imagined  I  could  hold  him  by  the  teeth. 

The  place  where  I  struck  him  was  a  deep  well- 
hole,  and  I  was  perched  upon  a  log  that  spanned  it 
ten  or  twelve  feet  above  the  water.  The  situation 
was  all  the  more  interesting  because  I  saw  no  possi- 
ble way  to  land  my  fish.  I  could  not  lead  him  ashore, 
and  my  frail  tackle  could  not  be  trusted  to  lift  him 
sheer  from  that  pit  to  my  precarious  perch.  What 
should  I  do  ?  call  for  help  ?  but  no  help  was  near. 
I  had  a  revolver  in  my  pocket  and  might  have  shot 
him  through  and  through,  but  that  novel  proceeding 
did  not  occur  to  me  until  it  was  too  late.  I  would 
have  taken  a  Sam  Patch  leap  into  the  water,  and 
have  wrestled  with  my  antagonist  in  his  own  ele- 
ment, but  I  knew  the  slack,  thus  sure  to  occur, 
would  probably  free  him;  so  I  peered  down  upon 
the  beautiful  creature  and  enjoyed  my  triumph  as 
far  as  it  went.  He  was  caught  very  lightly  through 
his  upper  jaw,  and  I  expected  every  struggle  and 
somersault  would  break  the  hold.  Presently  I  saw  a 
place  in  the  rocks  where  I  thought  it  possible,  with 
such  an  incentive,  to  get  down  within  reach  of  the 
water:  by  careful  manoeuvring  I  slipped  my  pole 


156  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

behind  me  and  got  hold  of  the  line,  which  I  cut  and 
wound  around  my  finger;  then  I  made  my  way  to- 
ward the  end  of  the  log  and  the  place  in  the  rocks, 
leading  my  fish  along  much  exhausted  on  the  top  of 
the  water.  By  an  effort  worthy  the  occasion  I  got 
down  within  reach  of  the  fish,  and,  as  I  have  already 
confessed,  thrust  my  thumb  into  his  mouth  and 
pinched  his  cheek;  he  made  a  spring  and  was  free 
from  my  hand  and  the  hook  at  the  same  time;  for  a 
moment  he  lay  panting  on  the  top  of  the  water,  then, 
recovering  himself  slowly,  made  his  way  down 
through  the  clear,  cruel  element  beyond  all  hope  of 
recapture.  My  blind  impulse  to  follow  and  try  to 
seize  him  was  very  strong,  but  I  kept  my  hold  and 
peered  and  peered  long  after  the  fish  was  lost  to 
view,  then  looked  my  mortification  in  the  face  and 
laughed  a  bitter  laugh. 

"But,  hang  it!  I  had  all  the  fun  of  catching  the 
fish,  and  only  miss  the  pleasure  of  eating  him,  which 
at  this  time  would  not  be  great." 

"The  fun,  I  take  it,"  said  my  soldier,  "is  in  tri- 
umphing, and  not  in  being  beaten  at  the  last." 

"Well,  have  it  so;  but  I  would  not  exchange 
those  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  with  that  trout  for  the 
tame  two  hours  you  have  spent  in  catching  that 
string  of  thirty.  To  see  a  big  fish  after  days  of 
small  fry  is  an  event;  to  have  a  jump  from  one  is  a 
glimpse  of  the  sportsman's  paradise;  and  to  hook 
one,  and  actually  have  him  under  your  control  for 
ten  minutes,  —  why,  that  is  the  paradise  itself  as 
long  as  it  lasts." 


A   BED   OF  BOUGHS  157 

One  day  I  went  down  to  the  house  of  a  settler  a 
mile  below,  and  engaged  the  good  dame  to  make  us 
a  couple  of  loaves  of  bread,  and  in  the  evening  we 
went  down  after  them.  How  elastic  and  exhilara- 
ting the  walk  was  through  the  cool,  transparent 
shadows !  The  sun  was  gilding  the  mountains,  and 
its  yellow  light  seemed  to  be  reflected  through  all 
the  woods.  At  one  point  we  looked  through  and 
along  a  valley  of  deep  shadow  upon  a  broad  sweep  of 
mountain  quite  near  and  densely  clothed  with  woods, 
flooded  from  base  to  summit  by  the  setting  sun.  It 
was  a  wild,  memorable  scene.  What  power  and 
effectiveness  in  Nature,  I  thought,  and  how  rarely 
an  artist  catches  her  touch !  Looking  down  upon  or 
squarely  into  a  mountain  covered  with  a  heavy 
growth  of  birch  and  maple,  and  shone  upon  by  the 
sun,  is  a  sight  peculiarly  agreeable  to  me.  How 
closely  the  swelling  umbrageous  heads  of  the  trees 
fit  together,  and  how  the  eye  revels  in  the  flowing 
and  easy  uniformity,  while  the  mind  feels  the  rug- 
gedness  and  terrible  power  beneath! 

As  we  came  back  the  light  yet  lingered  on  the 
top  of  Slide  Mountain. 

"  The  last  that  parlejrs  with  the  setting  sun," 
said  I,  quoting  Wordsworth. 

"That  line  is  almost  Shakespearean,"  said  my 
companion.  "It  suggests  that  great  hand  at  least, 
though  it  has  riot  the  grit  and  virility  of  the  more 
primitive  bard.  What  triumph  and  fresh  morning 
power  in  Shakespeare's  lines  that  will  occur  to  us 
at  sunrise  to-morrow !  — 


158  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

"  '  And  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops.' 

Or  in  this:  — 

"  '  Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 
Flatter  the  mountain  tops  with  sovran  eye.' 

There  is  savage,  perennial  beauty  there,  the  quality 
that  Wordsworth  and  nearly  all  the  modern  poets 
lack." 

"But  Wordsworth  is  the  poet  of  the  mountains," 
said  I,  "and  of  lonely  peaks.  True,  he  does  not 
express  the  power  and  aboriginal  grace  there  is  in 
them,  nor  toy  with  them  and  pluck  them  up  by  the 
hair  of  their  heads,  as  Shakespeare  does.  There  is 
something  in  Peakamoose  yonder,  as  we  see  it  from 
this  point,  cutting  the  blue  vault  with  its  dark, 
serrated  edge,  not  in  the  bard  of  Grasmere;  but  he 
expresses  the  feeling  of  loneliness  and  insignificance 
that  the  cultivated  man  has  in  the  presence  of  moun- 
tains, and  the  burden  of  solemn  emotion  they  give 
rise  to.  Then  there  is  something  much  more  wild 
and  merciless,  much  more  remote  from  human  inter- 
ests and  ends,  in  our  long,  high,  wooded  ranges  than 
is  expressed  by  the  peaks  and  scarred  groups  of  the 
lake  country  of  Britain.  These  mountains  we  be- 
hold and  cross  are  not  picturesque,  —  they  are  wild 
and  inhuman  as  the  sea.  In  them  you  are  in  a 
maze,  in  a  weltering  world  of  woods;  you  can  see 
neither  the  earth  nor  the  sky,  but  a  confusion  of  the 
growth  and  decay  of  centuries,  and  must  traverse 
them  by  your  compass  or  your  science  of  woodcraft, 
—  a  rift  through  the  trees  giving  one  a  glimpse  of 


A   BED   OF   BOUGHS  159 

the  opposite  range  or  of  the  valley  beneath,  and  he 
is  more  at  sea  than  ever;  one  does  not  know  his 
own  farm  or  settlement  when  framed  in  these  moun- 
tain treetops;  all  look  alike  unfamiliar." 

Not  the  least  of  the  charm  of  camping  out  is  your 
camp-fire  at  night.  What  an  artist !  What  pictures 
are  boldly  thrown  or  faintly  outlined  upon  the  can- 
vas of  the  night!  Every  object,  every  attitude  of 
your  companion,  is  striking  and  memorable.  You 
see  effects  and  groups  every  moment  that  you  would 
give  money  to  be  able  to  carry  away  with  you  in 
enduring  form.  How  the  shadows  leap,  and  skulk, 
and  hover  about!  Light  and  darkness  are  in  per- 
petual tilt  and  warfare,  with  first  the  one  unhorsed, 
then  the  other.  The  friendly  and  cheering  fire, 
what  acquaintance  we  make  with  it!  We  had  al- 
most forgotten  there  was  such  an  element,  we  had 
so  long  known  only  its  dark  offspring,  heat.  Now 
we  see  the  wild  beauty  uncaged  and  note  its  man- 
ner and  temper.  How  surely  it  creates  its  own  draft 
and  sets  the  currents  going,  as  force  and  enthusiasm 
always  will !  It  carves  itself  a  chimney  out  of  the 
fluid  and  houseless  air.  A  friend,  a  ministering 
angel,  in  subjection;  a  fiend,  a  fury,  a  monster, 
ready  to  devour  the  world,  if  ungoverned.  By  day 
it  burrows  in  the  ashes  and  sleeps;  at  night  it  comes 
forth  and  sits  upon  its  throne  of  rude  logs,  and  rules 
the  camp,  a  sovereign  queen. 

Near  camp  stood  a  tall,  ragged  yellow  birch,  its 
partially  cast-off  bark  hanging  in  crisp  sheets  or 
dense  rolls. 


160  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

"That  tree  needs  the  barber,"  we  said,  "and  shall 
have  a  call  from  him  to-night." 

So  after  dark  I  touched  a  match  into  it,  and  we 
saw  the  flames  creep  up  and  wax  in  fury  until  the 
whole  tree  and  its  main  branches  stood  wrapped  in 
a  sheet  of  roaring  flame.  It  was  a  wild  and  strik- 
ing spectacle,  and  must  have  advertised  our  camp  to 
every  nocturnal  creature  in  the  forest. 

What  does  the  camper  think  about  when  loung- 
ing around  the  fire  at  night  ?  Not  much,  —  of  the 
sport  of  the  day,  of  the  big  fish  he  lost  and  might 
have  saved,  of  the  distant  settlement,  of  to-morrow's 
plans.  An  owl  hoots  off  in  the  mountain  and  he 
thinks  of  him;  if  a  wolf  were  to  howl  or  a  panther 
to  scream,  he  would  think  of  him  the  rest  of  the 
night.  As  it  is,  things  flicker  and  hover  through  his 
mind,  and  he  hardly  knows  whether  it  is  the  past 
or  the  present  that  possesses  him.  Certain  it  is,  he 
feels  the  hush  and  solitude  of  the  great  forest,  and, 
whether  he  will  or  not,  all  his  musings  are  in  some 
way  cast  upon  that  huge  background  of  the  night. 
Unless  he  is  an  old  camper- out,  there  will  be  an 
undercurrent  of  dread  or  half  fear.  My  compan- 
ion said  he  could  not  help  but  feel  all  the  time  that 
there  ought  to  be  a  sentinel  out  there  pacing  up 
and  down.  One  seems  to  require  less  sleep  in  the 
woods,  as  if  the  ground  and  the  untempered  air 
rested  and  refreshed  him  sooner.  The  balsam  and 
the  hemlock  heal  his  aches  very  quickly.  If  one  is 
awakened  often  during  the  night,  as  he  invariably 
is,  he  does  not  feel  that  sediment  of  sleep  in  his 


A   BED   OF   BOUGHS  161 

mind  next  day  that  he  does  when  the  same  interrup- 
tion occurs  at  home;  the  boughs  have  drawn  it  all 
out  of  him. 

And  it  is  wonderful  how  rarely  any  of  the  housed 
and  tender  white  man's  colds  or  influenzas  come 
through  these  open  doors  and  windows  of  the  woods. 
It  is  our  partial  isolation  from  Nature  that  is  dan- 
gerous; throw  yourself  unreservedly  upon  her  and 
she  rarely  betrays  you. 

If  one  takes  anything  to  the  woods  to  read,  he 
seldom  reads  it;  it  does  not  taste  good  with  such 
primitive  air. 

There  are  very  few  camp  poems  that  I  know  of, 
poems  that  would  be  at  home  with  one  on  such  an 
expedition;  there  is  plenty  that  is  weird  and  spec- 
tral, as  in  Poe,  but  little  that  is  woody  and  wild 
as  this  scene  is.  I  recall  a  Canadian  poem  by  the 
late  C.  D.  Shanly  —  the  only  one,  I  believe,  the 
author  ever  wrote  —  that  fits  well  the  distended 
pupil  of  the  mind's  eye  about  the  camp-fire  at 
night.  It  was  printed  many  years  ago  in  the  "At- 
lantic Monthly,"  and  is  called  "The  Walker  of  the 
Snow ; "  it  begins  thus :  — 

" '  Speed  on,  speed  on,  good  master; 

The  camp  lies  far  away ; 
We  must  cross  the  haunted  valley 
Before  the  close  of  day.'  " 

"That  has  a  Canadian  sound,"  said  Aaron;  "give 
us  more  of  it." 

" '  How  the  snow-blight  came  upon  me 

I  will  tell  you  as  we  go,  — 
The  blight  of  the  shadow  hunter 
Who  walks  the  midnight  snow.' 


162       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

And  so  on.  The  intent  seems  to  be  to  personify 
the  fearful  cold  that  overtakes  and  benumbs  the  trav- 
eler in  the  great  Canadian  forests  in  winter.  This 
stanza  brings  out  the  silence  or  desolation  of  the 
scene  very  effectively,  —  a  scene  without  sound  or 
motion:  — 

" '  Save  the  wailing  of  the  moose-bird 

With  a  plaintive  note  and  low; 
And  the  skating  of  the  red  leaf 
Upon  the  frozen  snow.' 

"  The  rest  of  the  poem  runs  thus :  — 

« '  And  said  I,  Though  dark  is  falling, 

And  far  the  camp  must  be, 
Yet  my  heart  it  would  be  lightsome 
If  I  had  but  company. 

" '  And  then  I  sang  and  shouted, 
Keeping  measure  as  I  sped, 
To  the  harp-twang  of  the  snow-shoe 
As  it  sprang  beneath  my  tread. 

" '  Nor  far  into  the  valley 

Had  I  dipped  upon  my  way, 
When  a  dusky  figure  joined  me 
In  a  capuchin  of  gray, 

" '  Bending  upon  the  snow-shoes 

With  a  long  and  limber  stride; 
And  I  hailed  the  dusky  stranger, 
As  we  traveled  side  by  side. 

" '  But  no  token  of  communion 
Gave  he  by  word  or  look, 
And  the  fear-chill  fell  upon  me  ] 
At  the  crossing  of  the  brook. 

* '  For  I  saw  by  the  sickly  moonlight, 

As  I  followed,  bending  low, 
That  the  walking  of  the  stranger 
Left  no  foot-marks  on  the  snow. 


A  BED   OF   BOUGHS  163 

« '  Then  the  fear-chill  gathered  o'er  me, 

Like  a  shroud  around  me  cast, 
As  I  sank  upon  the  snow-drift 
Where  the  shadow  hunter  passed. 

" '  And  the  otter-trappers  found  me, 

Before  the  break  of  day, 
With  my  dark  hair  blanched  and  whitened 
As  the  snow  in  which  I  lay.         •» 

" '  But  they  spoke  not  as  they  raised  me; 

For  they  knew  that  in  the  night 
I  had  seen  the  shadow  hunter 
And  had  withered  in  his  sight. 

" '  Sancta  Maria  speed  us  ! 
The  sun  is  fallen  low: 
Before  us  lies  the  valley 
Of  the  Walker  of  the  Snow  ! '  " 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  my  companion.  "  Let  us  pile 
on  more  of  those  dry  birch-logs;  I  feel  both  the 
'  fear-chill '  and  the  '  cold-chill '  creeping  over  me. 
How  far  is  it  to  the  valley  of  the  Neversink  1 " 
"About  three  or  four  hours'  march,  the  man  said." 
"  I  hope  we  have  no  haunted  valleys  to  cross  ? " 
"None,"  said  I,  "but  we  pass  an  old  log  cabin 
about  which  there  hangs  a  ghostly  superstition.  At 
a  certain  hour  in  the  night,  during  the  time  the  bark 
is  loose  on  the  hemlock,  a  female  form  is  said  to 
steal  from  it  and  grope  its  way  into  the  wilderness. 
The  tradition  runs  that  her  lover,  who  was  a  bark- 
peeler  and  wielded  the  spud,  was  killed  by  his  rival, 
who  felled  a  tree  upon  him  while  they  were  at 
work.  The  girl,  who  helped  her  mother  cook  for 
the  '  hands, '  was  crazed  by  the  shock,  and  that  night 
stole  forth  into  the  woods  and  was  never  seen  or 


164       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

heard  of  more.  There  are  old  hunters  who  aver 
that  her  cry  may  still  be  heard  at  night  at  the  head 
of  the  valley  whenever  a  tree  falls  in  the  stillness  of 
the  forest." 

"  Well,  I  heard  a  tree  fall  not  ten  minutes  ago, " 
said  Aaron;  "a  distant,  rushing  sound  with  a  sub- 
dued crash  at  the  end  of  it,  and  the  only  answering 
cry  I  heard  was  the  shrill  voice  of  the  screech  owl 
off  yonder  against  the  mountain.  But  maybe  it 
was  not  an  owl,"  said  he  after  a  moment;  "let  us 
help  the  legend  along  by  believing  it  was  the  voice 
of  the  lost  maiden." 

"By  the  way,"  continued  he,  "do  you  remember 
the  pretty  creature  we  saw  seven  years  ago  in  the 
shanty  on  the  West  Branch,  who  was  really  helping 
her  mother  cook  for  the  hands,  a  slip  of  a  girl  twelve 
or  thirteen  years  old,  with  eyes  as  beautiful  and 
bewitching  as  the  waters  that  flowed  by  her  cabin? 
I  was  wrapped  in  admiration  till  she  spoke;  then 
how  the  spell  was  broken !  Such  a  voice !  It  was 
like  the  sound  of  pots  and  pans  when  you  expected 
to  hear  a  lute." 

The  next  day  we  bade  farewell  to  the  Eondout, 
and  set  out  to  cross  the  mountain  to  the  east  branch 
of  the  Neversink. 

"  We  shall  find  tame  waters  compared  with  these, 
I  fear,  —  a  shriveled  stream  brawling  along  over 
loose  stones,  with  few  pools  or  deep  places." 

Our  course  was  along  the  trail  of  the  bark-men 
who  had  pursued  the  doomed  hemlock  to  the  last 
tree  at  the  head  of  the  valley.  As  we  passed  along, 


A   BED   OF  BOUGHS  165 

a  red  steer  stepped  out  of  the  bushes  into  the  road 
ahead  of  us,  where  the  sunshine  fell  full  upon  him, 
and,  with  a  half-scared,  beautiful  look,  begged  alms 
of  salt.  We  passed  the  Haunted  Shanty ;  but  both 
it  and  the  legend  about  it  looked  very  tame  at  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  After  the  road  had  faded 
out,  we  took  to  the  bed  of  the  stream  to  avoid  the 
gauntlet  of  the  underbrush,  skipping  up  the  moun- 
tain from  bowlder  to  bowlder.  Up  and  up  we  went, 
with  frequent  pauses  and  copious  quaffing  of  the 
cold  water.  My  soldier  declared  a  "haunted  val- 
ley" would  be  a  godsend;  anything  but  endless 
dragging  of  one's  self  up  such  an  Alpine  stairway. 
The  winter  wren,  common  all  through  the  woods, 
peeped  and  scolded  at  us  as  we  sat  blowing  near  the 
summit,  and  the  oven-bird,  not  quite  sure  as  to 
what  manner  of  creatures  we  were,  hopped  down  a 
limb  to  within  a  few  feet  of  us  and  had  a  good  look, 
then  darted  off  into  the  woods  to  tell  the  news.  I 
also  noted  the  Canada  warbler,  the  chestnut-sided 
warbler,  and  the  black-throated  blue-back,  —  the 
latter  most  abundant  of  all.  Up  these  mountain 
brooks,  too,  goes  the  belted  kingfisher,  swooping 
around  through  the  woods  when  he  spies  the  fisher- 
man, then  wheeling  into  the  open  space  of  the  stream 
and  literally  making  a  "blue  streak"  down  under 
the  branches. 

At  last  the  stream  which  had  been  our  guide  was 
lost  under  the  rocks,  and  before  long  the  top  was 
gained.  These  mountains  are  horse-shaped.  There 
is  always  a  broad,  smooth  back,  more  or  less  de- 


166       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

pressed,  which  the  hunter  aims  to  bestride;  rising 
rapidly  from  this  is  pretty  sure  to  be  a  rough,  curv- 
ing ridge  that  carries  the  forest  up  to  some  highest 
peak.  We  were  lucky  in  hitting  the  saddle,  but  we 
could  see  a  little  to  the  south  the  sharp,  steep  neck 
of  the  steed  sweeping  up  toward  the  sky  with  an 
erect  mane  of  balsam  fir. 

These  mountains  are  steed-like  in  other  respects : 
any  timid  and  vacillating  course  with  them  is  sure 
to  get  you  into  trouble.  One  must  strike  out  boldly, 
and  not  be  disturbed  by  the  curveting  and  shying; 
the  valley  you  want  lies  squarely  behind  them,  but 
farther  off  than  you  think,  and  if  you  do  not  go  for 
it  resolutely  you  will  get  bewildered  and  the  moun- 
tain will  play  you  a  trick. 

I  may  say  that  Aaron  and  I  kept  a  tight  rein  and 
a  good  pace  till  we  struck  a  watercourse  on  the  other 
side,  and  that  we  clattered  down  it  with  no  want  of 
decision  till  it  emptied  into  a  larger  stream  which 
we  knew  must  be  the  East  Branch.  An  abandoned 
fishpole  lay  on  the  stones,  marking  the  farthest  point 
reached  by  some  fisherman.  According  to  our  reck- 
oning, we  were  five  or  six  miles  above  the  settle- 
ment, with  a  good  depth  of  primitive  woods  all 
about  us. 

We  kept  on  down  the  stream,  now  and  then  paus- 
ing at  a  likely  place  to  take  some  trout  for  dinner, 
and  with  an  eye  out  for  a  good  camping-ground. 
Many  of  the  trout  were  full  of  ripe  spawn,  and  a 
few  had  spawned,  the  season  with  them  being  a 
little  later  than  on  the  stream  we  had  left,  perhaps 


A   BED   OF  BOUGHS  167 

because  the  water  was  less  cold.  Neither  had  the 
creek  here  any  such  eventful  and  startling  career. 
It  led,  indeed,  quite  a  humdrum  sort  of  life  under 
the  roots  and  fallen  treetops  and  among  the  loose 
stones.  At  rare  intervals  it  beamed  upon  us  from 
some  still  reach  or  dark  cover,  and  won  from  us  our 
best  attention  in  return. 

The  day  was  quite  spent  before  we  had  pitched 
our  air- woven  tent  and  prepared  our  dinner,  and  we 
gathered  boughs  for  our  bed  in  the  gloaming.  Break- 
fast had  to  be  caught  in  the  morning  and  was  not 
served  early,  so  that  it  was  nine  o'clock  before  we 
were  in  motion.  A  little  bird,  the  red-eyed  vireo, 
warbled  most  cheerily  in  the  trees  above  our  camp, 
and,  as  Aaron  said,  "gave  us  a  good  send-off."  We 
kept  down  the  stream,  following  the  inevitable  bark 
road. 

My  companion  had  refused  to  look  at  another 
"dividing  ridge"  that  had  neither  path  nor  way, 
and  henceforth  I  must  keep  to  the  open  road  or  travel 
alone.  Two  hours'  tramp  brought  us  to  an  old 
clearing  with  some  rude,  tumble- down  log  buildings 
that  many  years  before  had  been  occupied  by  the 
bark  and  lumber  men.  The  prospect  for  trout  was 
so  good  in  the  stream  hereabouts,  and  the  scene  so 
peaceful  and  inviting,  shone  upon  by  the  dreamy 
August  sun,  that  we  concluded  to  tarry  here  until 
the  next  day.  It  was  a  page  of  pioneer  history 
opened  to  quite  unexpectedly.  A  dim  footpath 
led  us  a  few  yards  to  a  superb  spring,  in  which  a 
trout  from  the  near  creek  had  taken  up  his  abode. 


168       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

We  took  possession  of  what  had  been  a  shingle-shop, 
attracted  hy  its  huge  fireplace.  We  floored  it  with 
balsam  boughs,  hung  its  walls  with  our  "traps," 
and  sent  the  smoke  curling  again  from  its  disused 
chimney. 

The  most  musical  and  startling  sound  we  heard  in 
the  woods  greeted  our  ears  that  evening  about  sun- 
down as  we  sat  on  a  log  in  front  of  our  quarters,  — 
the  sound  of  slow,  measured  pounding  in  the  valley 
below  us.  We  did  not  know  how  near  we  were  to 
human  habitations,  and  the  report  of  the  lumber- 
man's mallet,  like  the  hammering  of  a  great  wood- 
pecker, was  music  to  the  ear  and  news  to  the  mind. 
The  air  was  still  and  dense,  and  the  silence  such  as 
alone  broods  over  these  little  openings  in  the  primi- 
tive woods.  My  soldier  started  as  if  he  had  heard 
a  signal-gun.  The  sound,  coming  so  far  through 
the  forest,  sweeping  over  those  great  wind-harps  of 
trees,  became  wild  and  legendary,  though  probably 
made  by  a  lumberman  driving  a  wedge  or  working 
about  his  mill. 

We  expected  a  friendly  visit  from  porcupines  that 
night,  as  we  saw  where  they  had  freshly  gnawed  all 
about  us;  hence,  when  a  red  squirrel  came  and 
looked  in  upon  us  very  early  in  the  morning  and 
awoke  us  by  his  snickering  and  giggling,  my  com- 
rade cried  out,  "  There  is  your  porcupig. "  How  the 
frisking  red  rogue  seemed  to  enjoy  what  he  had 
found!  He  looked  in  at  the  door  and  snickered, 
then  in  at  the  window,  then  peeked  down  from  be- 
tween the  rafters  and  cachinnated  till  his  sides  must 


A  BED   OF  BOUGHS  169 

have  ached;  then  struck  an  attitude  upon  the  chim- 
ney, and  fairly  squealed  with  mirth  and  ridicule. 
In  fact  he  grew  so  obstreperous,  and  so  disturbed 
our  repose,  that  we  had  to  "shoo"  him  away  with 
one  of  our  boots.  He  declared  most  plainly  that  he 
had  never  before  seen  so  preposterous  a  figure  as 
we  cut  lying  there  in  the  corner  of  that  old  shanty. 

The  morning  boded  rain,  the  week  to  which  we 
had  limited  ourselves  drew  near  its  close,  and  we 
concluded  to  finish  our  holiday  worthily  by  a  good 
square  tramp  to  the  railroad  station,  twenty-three 
miles  distant,  as  it  proved.  Two  miles  brought  us 
to  stumpy  fields,  and  to  the  house  of  the  upper  in- 
habitant. They  told  us  there  was  a  short  cut  across 
the  mountain,  but  my  soldier  shook  his  head. 

"Better  twenty  miles  of  Europe,"  said  he,  getting 
Tennyson  a  little  mixed,  "than  one  of  Cathay,  or 
Slide  Mountain  either." 

Drops  of  the  much-needed  rain  began  to  come 
down,  and  I  hesitated  in  front  of  the  woodshed. 

"Sprinkling  weather  always  comes  to  some  bad 
end,"  said  Aaron,  with  a  reminiscence  of  an  old 
couplet  in  his  mind,  and  so  it  proved,  for  it  did  not 
get  beyond  a  sprinkle,  and  the  sun  shone  out  before 
noon. 

In  the  next  woods  I  picked  up  from  the  middle 
of  the  road  the  tail  and  one  hind  leg  of  one  of  our 
native  rats,  the  first  I  had  ever  seen  except  in  a 
museum.  An  owl  or  fox  had  doubtless  left  it  the 
night  before.  It  was  evident  the  fragments  had 
once  formed  part  of  a  very  elegant  and  slender  crea- 


170  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

ture.  The  fur  that  remained  (for  it  was  not  hair) 
was  tipped  with  red.  My  reader  doubtless  knows 
that  the  common  rat  is  an  importation,  and  that 
there  is  a  native  American  rat,  usually  found  much 
farther  south  than  the  locality  of  which  I  am  writ- 
ing, that  lives  in  the  woods,  —  a  sylvan  rat,  very 
wild  and  nocturnal  in  his  habits,  and  seldom  seen 
even  by  hunters  or  woodmen.  Its  eyes  are  large 
and  fine,  and  its  form  slender.  It  looks  like  only 
a  far-off  undegenerate  cousin  of  the  filthy  creature 
that  has  come  to  us  from  the  long-peopled  Old 
World.  Some  creature  ran  between  my  feet  and 
the  fire  toward  morning,  the  last  night  we  slept  in 
the  woods,  and  I  have  little  doubt  it  was  one  of 
these  wood-rats. 

The  people  in  these  back  settlements  are  almost 
as  shy  and  furtive  as  the  animals.  Even  the  men 
look  a  little  scared  when  you  stop  them  by  your 
questions.  The  children  dart  behind  their  parents 
when  you  look  at  them.  As  we  sat  on  a  bridge 
resting,  —  for  our  packs  still  weighed  fifteen  or 
twenty  pounds  each,  —  two  women  passed  us  with 
pails  on  their  arms,  going  for  blackberries.  They 
filed  by  with  their  eyes  down  like  two  abashed  nuns. 

In  due  time  we  found  an  old  road,  to  which  we 
had  been  directed,  that  led  over  the  mountain  to 
the  West  Branch.  It  was  a  hard  pull,  sweetened 
by  blackberries  and  a  fine  prospect.  The  snowbird 
was  common  along  the  way,  and  a  solitary  wild 
pigeon  shot  through  the  woods  in  front  of  us,  recall- 
ing the  nests  we  had  seen  on  the  East  Branch,  — « 


A   BED   OF   BOUGHS  171 

little  scaffoldings  of  twigs  scattered  all  through  the 
trees. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  we  strucft  the  West 
Branch,  and  the  sun  was  scalding  hot.  We  knew 
that  two  and  three  pound  trout  had  been  taken 
there,  and  yet  we  wet  not  a  line  in  its  waters.  The 
scene  was  primitive,  and  carried  one  hack  to  the 
days  of  his  grandfather,  stumpy  fields,  log  fences, 
log  houses  and  barns.  A  boy  twelve  or  thirteen 
years  old  came  out  of  a  house  ahead  of  us  eating  a 
piece  of  bread-and-butter.  We  soon  overtook  him 
and  held  converse  with  him.  He  knew  the  land 
well,  and  what  there  was  in  the  woods  and  the 
waters.  He  had  walked  out  to  the  railroad  station, 
fourteen  miles  distant,  to  see  the  cars,  and  back  the 
same  day.  I  asked  him  about  the  flies  and  mosqui- 
toes, etc.  He  said  they  were  all  gone  except  the 
"  blunder-heads ;  "  there  were  some  of  them  left  yet. 

"  What  are  blunder- heads  ?  "  I  inquired,  sniffing 
new  game. 

"  The  pesky  little  fly  that  gets  into  your  eye  when 
you  are  a-fishing." 

Ah,  yes!  I  knew  him  well.  We  had  got  ac- 
quainted some  days  before,  and  I  thanked  the  boy 
for  the  name.  It  is  an  insect  that  hovers  before 
your  eye  as  you  thread  the  streams,  and  you  are  for- 
ever vaguely  brushing  at  it  under  the  delusion  that 
it  is  a  little  spider  suspended  from  your  hat- brim; 
and  just  as  you  want  to  see  clearest,  into  your  eye  it 
goes,  head  and  ears,  and  is  caught  between  the  lids. 
You  miss  your  cast,  but  you  catch  a  "blunder-head." 


172  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

We  paused  under  a  bridge  at  the  mouth  of  Biscuit 
Brook  and  ate  our  lunch,  and  I  can  recommend  it 
to  be  as  good  a  wayside  inn  as  the  pedestrian  need 
look  for.  Better  bread-and-milk  than  we  had  there 
I  never  expect  to  find.  The  milk  was  indeed  so 
good  that  Aaron  went  down  to  the  little  log  house 
under  the  hill  a  mile  farther  on  and  asked  for  more ; 
and  being  told  they  had  no  cow,  he  lingered  five 
minutes  on  the  door-stone  with  his  sooty  pail  in  his 
hand,  putting  idle  questions  about  the  way  and  dis- 
tance, etc. ,  to  the  mother  while  he  refreshed  himself 
with  the  sight  of  a  well-dressed  and  comely-looking 
young  girl,  her  daughter. 

"I  got  no  milk,"  said  he,  hurrying  on  after 
me,  "but  I  got  something  better,  only  I  cannot 
divide  it." 

"I  know  what  it  is,"  replied  I;  "I  heard  her 
voice. "  , 

"  Yes,  and  it  was  a  good  one,  too.  The  sweetest 
sound  I  ever  heard,"  he  went  on,  "was  a  girl's 
voice  after  I  had  been  four  years  in  the  army,  and, 
by  Jove !  if  I  did  n't  experience  something  of  the 
same  pleasure  in  hearing  this  young  girl  speak  after 
a  Aveek  in  the  woods.  She  had  evidently  been  out 
in  the  world  and  was  home  on  a  visit.  It  was  a 
different  look  she  gave  me  from  that  of  the  natives. 
This  is  better  than  fishing  for  trout, "  said  he.  "  You 
drop  in  at  the  next  house." 

But  the  next  house  looked  too  unpromising. 

"There  is  no  milk  there,"  said  I,  "unless  they 
keep  a  goat." 


A   BED   OF  BOUGHS  173 

"But  could  we  not,"  said  my  facetious  compan- 
ion, "go  it  on  that?  " 

A  couple  of  miles  beyond  I  stopped  at  a  house 
that  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  being  clapboarded, 
and  had  the  good  fortune  to  find  both  the  milk  and 
the  young  lady.  A  mother  and  her  daughter  were 
again  the  only  occupants  save  a  babe  in  the  cradle, 
which  the  young  woman  quickly  took  occasion  to 
disclaim. 

"It  has  not  opened  its  dear  eyes  before  since  its 
mother  left.  Come  to  aunty,"  and  she  put  out  her 
hands. 

The  daughter  filled  my  pail  and  the  mother  re- 
plenished our  stock  of  bread.  They  asked  me  to  sit 
and  cool  myself,  and  seemed  glad  of  a  stranger  to  talk 
with.  They  had  come  from  an  adjoining  county 
five  years  before,  and  had  carved  their  little  clearing 
out  of  the  solid  woods. 

"The  men  folks,"  the  mother  said,  "came  on 
ahead  and  built  the  house  right  among  the  big 
trees,"  pointing  to  the  stumps  near  the  door. 

One  no  sooner  sets  out  with  his  pack  upon  his 
back  to  tramp  through  the  land  than  all  objects  and 
persons  by  the  way  have  a  new  and  curious  interest 
to  him.  The  tone  of  his  entire  being  is  not  a  little 
elevated,  and  all  his  perceptions  and  susceptibilities 
quickened.  I  feel  that  some  such  statement  is 
necessary  to  justify  the  interest  that  I  felt  in  this 
backwoods  maiden.  A  slightly  pale  face  it  was, 
strong  and  well  arched,  with  a  tender,  wistful  ex- 
pression not  easy  to  forget. 


174  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

I  had  surely  seen  that  face  many  times  before  in 
towns  and  cities,  and  in  other  lands,  but  I  hardly 
expected  to  meet  it  here  amid  the  stumps.  What 
were  the  agencies  that  had  given  it  its  fine  lines  and 
its  gracious  intelligence  amid  these  simple,  primi- 
tive scenes  ?  What  did  my  heroine  read,  or  think  ? 
or  what  were  her  unfulfilled  destinies  ?  She  wore 
a  sprig  of  prince's  pine  in  her  hair,  which  gave  a 
touch  peculiarly  welcome. 

"Pretty  lonely,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  my  in- 
quiry; "only  an  occasional  fisherman  in  summer, 
and  in  winter  —  nobody  at  all. " 

And  the  little  new  schoolhouse  in  the  woods  far- 
ther on,  with  its  half  dozen  scholars  and  the  girlish 
face  of  the  teacher  seen  through  the  open  door,  — 
nothing  less  than  the  exhilaration  of  a  journey  on 
foot  could  have  made  it  seem  the  interesting  object 
it  was.  Two  of  the  little  girls  had  been  to  the 
spring  after  a  pail  of  water,  and  came  struggling  out 
of  the  woods  into  the  road  with  it  as  we  passed. 
They  set  down  their  pail  and  regarded  us  with  a  half- 
curious,  half -alarmed  look. 

"What  is  your  teacher's  name ?  "  asked  one  of  us. 

"  Miss  Lucinde  Josephine "  began  the  red- 
haired  one,  then  hesitated,  bewildered,  when  the 
bright,  dark- eyed  one  cut  her  short  with  "Miss 
Simms,"  and  taking  hold  of  the  pail  said,  "Come 
on." 

"Are  there  any  scholars  from  above  here?"  I 
inquired. 

"Yes,  Bobbie  and  Matie,"  and  they  hastened  to- 
ward the  door. 


A   BED   OF   BOUGHS  175 

We  once  more  stopped  under  a  bridge  for  refresh- 
ments, and  took  our  time,  knowing  the  train  would 
not  go  on  without  us.  By  four  o'clock  we  were 
across  the  mountain,  having  passed  from  the  water- 
shed of  the  Delaware  into  that  of  the  Hudson.  The 
next  eight  miles  we  had  a  down  grade  but  a  rough 
road,  and  during  the  last  half  of  it  we  had  blisters 
on  the  bottoms  of  our  feet.  It  is  one  of  the  rewards 
of  the  pedestrian  that,  however  tired  he  may  be, 
he  is  always  more  or  less  refreshed  by  his  journey. 
His  physical  tenement  has  taken  an  airing.  His 
respiration  has  been  deepened,  his  circulation  quick- 
ened. A  good  draught  has  carried  off  the  fumes  and 
the  vapors.  One's  quality  is  intensified;  the  color 
strikes  in.  At  noon  that  day  I  was  much  fatigued; 
at  night  I  was  leg-weary  and  foot-sore,  but  a  fresh, 
hardy  feeling  had  taken  possession  of  me  that  lasted 
for  weeks. 


vm 

BIRDS'-NESTING 

"DIRDS'-NESTING  is  by  no  means  a  failure, 
-^•^  even  though  you  find  no  birds' -nests.  You 
are  sure  to  find  other  things  of  interest,  plenty  of 
them.  A  friend  of  mine  says  that,  in  his  youth, 
he  used  to  go  hunting  with  his  gun  loaded  for  wild 
turkeys,  and,  though  he  frequently  saw  plenty  of 
smaller  game,  he  generally  came  home  empty-handed, 
because  he  was  loaded  only  for  turkeys.  But  the 
student  of  ornithology,  who  is  also  a  lover  of  Nature 
in  all  her  shows  and  forms,  does  not  go  out  loaded 
for  turkeys  merely,  but  for  everything  that  moves 
or  grows,  and  is  quite  sure,  therefore,  to  bag  some 
game,  if  not  with  his  gun,  then  with  his  eye,  or  his 
nose,  or  his  ear.  Even  a  crow's  nest  is  not  amiss, 
or  a  den  in  the  rocks  where  the  coons  or  the  skunks 
live,  or  a  log  where  a  partridge  drums,  or  the  par- 
tridge himself  starting  up  with  spread  tail,  and  walk- 
ing a  few  yards  in  advance  of  you  before  he  goes 
humming  through  the  woods,  or  a  woodchuck  hole, 
with  well  beaten  and  worn  entrance,  and  with  the 
saplings  gnawed  and  soiled  about  it,  or  the  strong, 
fetid  smell  of  the  fox,  which  a  sharp  nose  detects 
here  and  there,  and  which  is  a  good  perfume  in  the 


178  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

woods.  And  then  it  is  enough  to  come  upon  a 
spring  in  the  woods  and  stoop  down  and  drink  of 
the  sweet,  cold  water,  and  bathe  your  hands  in  it, 
or  to  walk  along  a  trout  brook,  which  has  absorbed 
the  shadows  till  it  has  itself  become  but  a  denser 
shade.  Then  I  am  always  drawn  out  of  my  way  by 
a  ledge  of  rocks,  and  love  nothing  better  than  to 
explore  the  caverns  and  dens,  or  to  sit  down  under 
the  overhanging  crags  and  let  the  wild  scene  absorb 
me. 

There  is  a  fascination  about  ledges !  They  are  an 
unmistakable  feature,  and  give  emphasis  and  char- 
acter to  the  scene.  I  feel  their  spell,  and  must  pause 
awhile.  Time,  old  as  the  hills  and  older,  looks  out 
of  their  scarred  and  weather-worn  face.  The  woods 
are  of  to-day,  but  the  ledges,  in  comparison,  are  of 
eternity.  One  pokes  about  them  as  he  would  about 
ruins,  and  with  something  of  the  same  feeling. 
They  are  ruins  of  the  fore  world.  Here  the  founda- 
tions of  the  hills  were  laid;  here  the  earth-giants 
wrought  and  builded.  They  constrain  one  to  silence 
and  meditation;  the  whispering  and  rustling  trees 
seem  trivial  and  impertinent. 

And  then  there  are  birds'-nests  about  ledges,  too, 
exquisite  mossy  tenements,  with  white,  pebbly  eggs, 
that  I  can  never  gaze  upon  without  emotion.  The 
little  brown  bird,  the  phoabe,  looks  at  you  from  her 
niche  till  you  are  within  a  few  feet  of  her,  when 
she  darts  away.  Occasionally  you  may  find  the  nest 
of  some  rare  wood-warbler  forming  a  little  pocket  in 
the  apron  of  moss  that  hangs  down  over  the  damp 
rocks. 


BIRDS-NESTING  179 

The  sylvan  folk  seem  to  know  when  you  are  on 
a  peaceful  mission,  and  are  less  afraid  than  usual. 
Did  not  that  marmot  to-day  guess  my  errand  did  not 
concern  him  as  he  saw  me  approach  there  from  his 
cover  in  the  bushes  1  But,  when  he  saw  me  pause 
and  deliberately  seat  myself  on  the  stone  wall  im- 
mediately over  his  hole,  his  confidence  was  much 
shaken.  He  apparently  deliberated  awhile,  for  I 
heard  the  leaves  rustle  as  if  he  were  making  up  his 
mind,  when  he  suddenly  broke  cover  and  came  for 
his  hole  full  tilt.  Any  other  animal  would  have 
taken  to  his  heels  and  fled;  but  a  woodchuck's  heels 
do  not  amount  to  much  for  speed,  and  he  feels  his 
only  safety  is  in  his  hole.  On  he  came  in  the  most 
obstinate  and  determined  manner,  and  I  dare  say  if 
I  had  sat  down  in  his  hole  would  have  attacked  me 
unhesitatingly.  This  I  did  not  give  him  a  chance 
to  do;  but,  not  to  be  entirely  outdone,  attempted 
to  set  my  feet  on  him  in  no  very  gentle  manner; 
but  he  whipped  into  his  den  beneath  me  with  a  de- 
fiant snort.  Farther  on,  a  saucy  chipmunk  pre- 
sumed upon  my  harmless  character  to  an  unwonted 
degree  also.  I  had  paused  to  bathe  my  hands  and 
face  in  a  little  trout  brook,  and  had  set  a  tin  cup, 
which  I  had  partly  filled  with  strawberries  as  I 
crossed  the  field,  on  a  stone  at  my  feet,  when  along 
came  the  chipmunk  as  confidently  as  if  he  knew  pre- 
cisely where  he  was  going,  and,  perfectly  oblivious 
of  my  presence,  cocked  himself  up  on  the  rim  of  the 
cup  and  proceeded  to  eat  my  choicest  berries.  I  re- 
mained motionless  and  observed  him.  He  had  eaten 


180       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

but  two  when  the  thought  seemed  to  occur  to  him 
that  he  might  be  doing  better,  and  he  began  to  fill 
his  pockets.  Two,  four,  six,  eight  of  my  berries 
quickly  disappeared,  and  the  cheeks  of  the  little 
vagabond  swelled.  But  all  the  time  he  kept  eating, 
that  not  a  moment  might  be  lost.  Then  he  hopped 
off  the  cup,  and  went  skipping  from  stone  to  stone 
till  the  brook  was  passed,  when  he  disappeared  in 
the  woods.  In  two  or  three  minutes  he  was  back 
again,  and  went  to  stuffing  himself  as  before;  then 
he  disappeared  a  second  time,  and  I  imagined  told 
a  friend  of  his,  for  in  a  moment  or  two  along  came 
a  bobtailed  chipmunk,  as  if  in  search  of  something, 
and  passed  up,  and  down,  and  around,  but  did  not 
quite  hit  the  spot.  Shortly,  the  first  returned  a 
third  time,  and  had  now  grown  a  little  fastidious, 
for  he  began  to  sort  over  my  berries,  and  to  bite  into 
them,  as  if  to  taste  their  quality.  He  was  not  long 
in  loading  up,  however,  and  in  making  off  again. 
But  I  had  now  got  tired  of  the  joke,  and  my  berries 
were  appreciably  diminishing,  so  I  moved  away. 
What  was  most  curious  about  the  proceeding  was, 
that  the  little  poacher  took  different  directions  each 
time,  and  returned  from  different  ways.  Was  this 
to  elude  pursuit,  or  was  he  distributing  the  fruit  to 
his  friends  and  neighbors  about,  astonishing  them 
with  strawberries  for  lunch? 

But  I  am  making  slow  headway  toward  finding 
the  birds'-nests,  for  I  had  set  out  on  this  occasion 
in  hopes  of  finding  a  rare  nest,  — the  ne§t  of  the 
black-throated  blue-backed  warbler,  which,  it  seemed, 


BIRDS'-NESTING  181 

with  one  or  two  others,  was  still  wanting  to  make 
the  history  of  our  warblers  complete.  The  woods 
were  extensive,  and  full  of  deep,  dark  tangles,  and 
looking  for  any  particular  nest  seemed  about  as  hope- 
less a  task  as  searching  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack, 
as  the  old  saying  is.  Where  to  begin,  and  how? 
But  the  principle  is  the  same  as  in  looking  for  a 
hen's  nest, — first  find  your  bird,  then  watch  its 
movements. 

The  bird  is  in  these  woods,  for  I  have  seen  him 
scores  of  times,  but  whether  he  builds  high  or  low, 
on  the  ground  or  in  the  trees,  is  all  unknown  to  me. 
That  is  his  song  now,  —  "  twe-twea-twe-e-e-a, "  with 
a  peculiar  summer  languor  and  plaintiveness,  and 
issuing  from  the  lower  branches  and  growths.  Pres- 
ently we  —  for  I  have  been  joined  by  a  companion 
—  discover  the  bird,  a  male,  insecting  in  the  top  of 
a  newly-fallen  hemlock.  The  black,  white,  and  blue 
of  his  uniform  are  seen  at  a  glance.  His  movements 
are  quite  slow  compared  with  some  of  the  warblers. 
If  he  will  only  betray  the  locality  of  that  little  domi- 
cile where  his  plainly-clad  mate  is  evidently  sitting, 
it  is  all  we  will  ask  of  him.  But  this  he  seems  in 
no  wise  disposed  to  do.  Here  and  there,  and  up 
and  down,  we  follow  him,  often  losing  him,  and  as 
often  refinding  him  by  his  song ;  but  the  clew  to  his 
nest,  how  shall  we  get  it?  Does  he  never  go  home 
to  see  how  things  are  getting  on,  or  to  see  if  his 
presence  is  not  needed,  or  to  take  madam  a  morsel 
of  food  ?  No  doubt  he  keeps  within  ear-shot,  and  a 
cry  of  distress  or  alarm  from  the  mother  bird  would 


182  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

bring  him  to  the  spot  in  an  instant.  Would  that 
some  evil  fate  would  make  her  cry,  then !  Presently 
he  encounters  a  rival.  His  feeding-ground  infringes 
upon  that  of  another,  and  the  two  birds  regard  each 
other  threateningly.  This  is  a  good  sign,  for  their 
nests  are  evidently  near. 

Their  battle-cry  is  a  low,  peculiar  chirp,  not  very 
fierce,  but  bantering  and  confident.  They  quickly 
come  to  blows,  but  it  is  a  very  fantastic  battle,  and, 
as  it  would  seem,  indulged  in  more  to  satisfy  their 
sense  of  honor  than  to  hurt  each  other,  for  neither 
party  gets  the  better  of  the  other,  and  they  separate 
a  few  paces  and  sing,  and  squeak,  and  challenge  each 
other  in  a  very  happy  frame  of  mind.  The  gauntlet 
is  no  sooner  thrown  down  than  it  is  again  taken  up 
by  one  or  the  other,  and  in  the  course  of  fifteen  or 
twenty  minutes  they  have  three  or  four  encounters, 
separating  a  little,  then  provoked  to  return  again 
like  two  cocks,  till  finally  they  withdraw  beyond 
hearing  of  each  other,  —  both,  no  doubt,  claiming  the 
victory.  But  the  secret  of  the  nest  is  still  kept. 
Once  I  think  I  have  it.  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  bird 
which  looks  like  the  female,  and  near  by,  in  a  small 
hemlock  about  eight  feet  from  the  ground,  my  eye 
detects  a  nest.  But  as  I  come  up  under  it,  I  can 
see  daylight  through  it,  and  that  it  is  empty,  —  evi- 
dently only  part  finished,  not  lined  or  padded  yet. 
Now  if  the  bird  will  only  return  and  claim  it,  the 
point  will  be  gained.  But  we  wait  and  watch  in 
vain.  The  architect  has  knocked  off  to-day,  and 
we  must  come  again,  or  continue  our  search. 


BIRDS-NESTING  183 

While  loitering  about  here  we  were  much  amused 
by  three  chipmunks,  who  seemed  to  be  engaged  in 
some  kind  of  game.  It  looked  very  much  as  if  they 
were  playing  tag.  Eound  and  round  they  would 
go,  first  one  taking  the  lead,  then  another,  all  good- 
natured  and  gleeful  as  schoolboys.  There  is  one 
thing  about  a  chipmunk  that  is  peculiar :  he  is  never 
more  than  one  jump  from  home.  Make  a  dive  at 
him  anywhere  and  in  he  goes.  He  knows  where 
the  hole  is,  even  when  it  is  covered  up  with  leaves. 
There  is  no  doubt,  also,  that  he  has  his  own  sense 
of  humor  and  fun,  as  what  squirrel  has  not?  I 
have  watched  two  red  squirrels  for  a  half  hour  cours- 
ing through  the  large  trees  by  the  roadside  where 
branches  interlocked,  and  engaged  in  a  game  of  tag 
as  obviously  as  two  boys.  As  soon  as  the  pursuer 
had  come  up  with  the  pursued,  and  actually  touched 
him,  the  palm  was  his,  and  away  he  would  go,  tax- 
ing his  wits  and  his  speed  to  the  utmost  to  elude 
his  fellow. 

Despairing  of  finding  either  of  the  nests  of  the 
two  males,  we  pushed  on  through  the  woods  to  try 
our  luck  elsewhere.  Before  long,  just  as  we  were 
about  to  plunge  down  a  hill  into  a  dense,  swampy 
part  of  the  woods,  we  discovered  a  pair  of  the  birds 
we  were  in  quest  of.  They  had  food  in  their  beaks, 
and,  as  we  paused,  showed  great  signs  of  alarm,  in- 
dicating that  the  nest  was  in  the  immediate  vicinity. 
This  was  enough.  We  would  pause  here  and  find 
this  nest,  anyhow.  To  make  a  sure  thing  of  it,  we 
determined  to  watch  the  parent  birds  till  we  had 


184       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

wrung  from  them  their  secret.  So  we  doggedly 
crouched  down  and  watched  them,  and  they  watched 
us.  It  was  diamond  cut  diamond.  But  as  we  felt 
constrained  in  our  movements,  desiring,  if  possible, 
to  keep  so  quiet  that  the  birds  would,  after  a  while, 
see  in  us  only  two  harmless  stumps  or  prostrate  logs, 
we  had  much  the  worst  of  it.  The  mosquitoes  were 
quite  taken  with  our  quiet,  and  knew  us  from  logs 
and  stumps  in  a  moment.  Neither  were  the  birds 
deceived,  not  even  when  we  tried  the  Indian's  tac- 
tics, and  plumed  ourselves  with  green  branches. 
Ah,  the  suspicious  creatures,  how  they  watched  us 
with  the  food  in  their  beaks,  abstaining  for  one 
whole  hour  from  ministering  that  precious  charge 
which  otherwise  would  have  been  visited  every  mo- 
ment! Quite  near  us  they  would  come  at  times, 
between  us  and  the  nest,  eying  us  so  sharply. 
Then  they  would  move  off,  and  apparently  try  to 
forget  our  presence.  Was  it  to  deceive  us,  or  to 
persuade  himself  and  mate  that  there  was  no  serious 
cause  for  alarm,  that  the  male  would  now  and  then 
strike  up  in  full  song  and  move  off  to  some  distance 
through  the  trees?  But  the  mother  bird  did  not 
allow  herself  to  lose  sight  of  us  at  all,  and  both 
birds,  after  carrying  the  food  in  their  beaks  a  long 
time,  would  swallow  it  themselves.  Then  they 
would  obtain  another  morsel  and  apparently  approach 
very  near  the  nest,  when  their  caution  or  prudence 
would  come  to  their  aid,  and  they  would  swallow 
the  food  and  hasten  away.  I  thought  the  young 
birds  would  cry  out,  but  not  a  syllable  from  them. 


BIRDS-NESTING  185 

Yet  this  was,  no  doubt,  what  kept  the  parent  birds 
away  from  the  nest.  The  clamor  the  young  would 
have  set  up  on  the  approach  of  the  old  with  food 
would  have  exposed  everything. 

After  a  time  I  felt  sure  I  knew  within  a  few  feet 
where  the  nest  was  concealed.  Indeed,  I  thought 
I  knew  the  identical  bush.  Then  the  birds  ap- 
proached each  other  again  and  grew  very  confiden- 
tial about  another  locality  some  rods  below.  This 
puzzled  us,  and,  seeing  the  whole  afternoon  might  be 
spent  in  this  manner,  and  the  mystery  unsolved,  we 
determined  to  change  our  tactics  and  institute  a  thor- 
ough search  of  the  locality.  This  procedure  soon 
brought  things  to  a  crisis,  for,  as  my  companion 
clambered  over  a  log  by  a  little  hemlock,  a  few  yards 
from  where  we  had  been  sitting,  with  a  cry  of  alarm 
out  sprang  the  young  birds  from  their  nest  in  the 
hemlock,  and,  scampering  and  fluttering  over  the 
leaves,  disappeared  in  different  directions.  This 
brought  the  parent  birds  on  the  scene  in  an  agony 
of  alarm.  Their  distress  was  pitiful.  They  threw 
themselves  on  the  ground  at  our  very  feet,  and  flut- 
tered, and  cried,  and  trailed  themselves  before  us, 
to  draw  us  away  from  the  place,  or  distract  our  at- 
tention from  the  helpless  young.  I  shall  not  forget 
the  male  bird,  how  bright  he  looked,  how  sharp  the 
contrast  as  he  trailed  his  painted  plumage  there  on 
the  dry  leaves.  Apparently  he  was  seriously  dis- 
abled. He  would  start  up  as  if  exerting  every  mus- 
cle to  fly  away,  but  no  use;  down  he  would  come, 
with  a  helpless,  fluttering  motion,  before  he  had 


186  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

gone  two  yards,  and  apparently  you  had  only  to  go 
and  pick  him  up.  But  before  you  could  pick  him 
up,  he  had  recovered  somewhat  and  flown  a  little 
farther;  and  thus,  if  you  were  tempted  to  follow 
him,  you  would  soon  find  yourself  some  distance 
from  the  scene  of  the  nest,  and  both  old  and  young 
well  out  of  your  reach.  The  female  bird  was  not 
less  solicitous,  and  practiced  the  same  arts  upon  us 
to  decoy  us  away,  but  her  dull  plumage  rendered 
her  less  noticeable.  The  male  was  clad  in  holiday 
attire,  but  his  mate  in  an  every-day  working-garb. 

The  nest  was  built  in  the  fork  of  a  little  hemlock, 
about  fifteen  inches  from  the  ground,  and  was  a 
thick,  firm  structure,  composed  of  the  finer  material 
of  the  woods,  with  a  lining  of  very  delicate  roots 
or  rootlets.  .  There  were  four  young  birds  and  one 
addled  egg.  We  found  it  in  a  locality  about  the 
head- waters  of  the  eastern  branch  of  the  Delaware, 
where  several  other  of  the  rarer  species  of  warblers, 
such  as  the  mourning  ground,  the  Blackburnian, 
the  chestnut-sided,  and  the  speckled  Canada,  spend 
the  summer  and  rear  their  young. 

Defunct  birds'-nests  are  easy  to  find;  when  the 
leaves  fall,  then  they  are  in  every  bush  and  tree; 
and  one  wonders  how  he  missed  them;  but  a  live 
nest,  how  it  eludes  one!  I  have  read  of  a  noted 
criminal  who  could  hide  himself  pretty  effectually 
in  any  room  that  contained  the  usual  furniture;  he 
would  embrace  the  support  of  a  table  so  as  to  seem 
part  of  it.  The  bird  has  studied  the  same  art:  it 
always  blends  its  nest  with  the  surroundings,  and 


BIRDS'-NESTING  187 

sometimes  its  very  openness  hides  it ;  the  light  itself 
seems  to  conceal  it.  Then  the  birds  build  anew  each 
year,  and  so  always  avail  themselves  of  the  present 
and  latest  combination  of  leaves  and  screens,  of  light 
and  shade.  What  was  very  well  concealed  one  sea- 
son, may  be  quite  exposed  the  next. 

Going  a-fishing  or  a-berrying  is  a  good  introduc- 
tion to  the  haunts  of  the  birds,  and  to  their  nesting- 
places.  You  put  forth  your  hand  for  the  berries, 
and  there  is  a  nest;  or  your  tread  by  the  creeks 
starts  the  sandpiper  or  the  water-thrush  from  the 
ground  where  its  eggs  are  concealed,  or  some  shy 
wood- warbler  from  a  bush.  One  day,  fishing  down 
a  deep  wooded  gorge,  my  hook  caught  on  a  limb 
overhead,  and  on  pulling  it  down  I  found  I  had 
missed  my  trout,  but  had  caught  a  hummingbird's 
nest.  It  was  saddled  on  the  limb  as  nicely  as  if  it 
had  been  a  grown  part  of  it. 

Other  collectors  beside  the  oologists  are  looking 
for  birds '-nests,  — the  squirrels  and  owls  and  jays 
and  crows.  The  worst  depredator  in  this  direction  I 
know  of  is  the  fish  crow,  and  I  warn  him  to  keep 
off  my  premises,  and  charge  every  gunner  to  spare 
him  not.  He  is  a  small  sneak-thief,  and  will  rob 
the  nest  of  every  robin,  wood  thrush,  and  oriole  he 
can  come  at.  I  believe  he  fishes  only  when  he  is 
unable  to  find  birds'  eggs  or  young  birds.  The  gen- 
uine crow,  the  crow  with  the  honest  "caw,"  "caw," 
I  have  never  caught  in  such  small  business,  though 
the  kingbird  makes  no  discrimination  between  them, 
but  accuses  both  alike. 


DC 

THE  HALCYON  IN  CANADA 

rpHE  halcyon  or  kingfisher  is  a  good  guide  when 
you  go  to  the  woods.  He  will  not  insure 
smooth  water  or  fair  weather,  but  he  knows  every 
stream  and  lake  like  a  book,  and  will  take  you  to 
the  wildest  and  most  unfrequented  places.  Follow 
his  rattle  and  you  shall  see  the  source  of  every  trout 
and  salmon  stream  on  the  continent.  You  shall  see 
the  Lake  of  the  Woods,  and  far-off  Athabaska  and 
Abbitibbe,  and  the  unknown  streams  that  flow  into 
Hudson's  Bay,  and  many  others.  His  time  is  the 
time  of  the  trout,  too,  namely,  from  April  to  Sep- 
tember. He  makes  his  subterranean  nest  in  the 
bank  of  some  favorite  stream,  and  then  goes  on  long 
excursions  up  and  down  and  over  woods  and  moun- 
tains to  all  the  waters  within  reach,  always  fishing 
alone,  the  true  angler  that  he  is,  his  fellow  keeping 
far  ahead  or  behind,  or  taking  the  other  branch. 
He  loves  the  sound  of  a  waterfall,  and  will  sit  a  long 
time  on  a  dry  limb  overhanging  the  pool  below  it, 
and,  forgetting  his  occupation,  brood  upon  his  own 
memories  and  fancies. 

The  past  season  my  friend  and  I  took  a  hint  from 
him,  and,  when  the  dog-star  began  to  blaze,  set  out 


190  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

for  Canada,  making  a  big  detour  to  touch  at  salt 
water  and  to  take  New  York  and  Boston  on  our  way. 

The  latter  city  was  new  to  me,  and  we  paused 
there  and  angled  a  couple  of  days  and  caught  an 
editor,  a  philosopher,  and  a  poet,  and  might  have 
caught  more  if  we  had  had  a  mind  to,  for  these 
waters  are  full  of  'em,  and  big  ones,  too. 

Coming  from  the  mountainous  regions  of  the  Hud- 
son, we  saw  little  in  the  way  of  scenery  that  arrested 
our  attention  until  we  beheld  the  St.  Lawrence, 
though  one  gets  glimpses  now  and  then,  as  he  is 
whirled  along  through  New  Hampshire  and  Ver- 
mont, that  make  him  wish  for  a  fuller  view.  It  is 
always  a  pleasure  to  bring  to  pass  the  geography  of 
one's  boyhood;  'tis  like  the  fulfilling  of  a  dream; 
hence  it  was  with  partial  eyes  that  I  looked  upon 
the  Merrimac,  the  Connecticut,  and  the  Passumpsic, 
—  dusky,  squaw-colored  streams,  whose  names  I  had 
learned  so  long  ago.  The  traveler  opens  his  eyes  a 
little  wider  when  he  reaches  Lake  Memphremagog, 
especially  if  he  have  the  luck  to  see  it  under  such 
a  sunset  as  we  did,  its  burnished  surface  glowing 
like  molten  gold.  This  lake  is  an  immense  trough 
that  accommodates  both  sides  of  the  fence,  though 
the  larger  and  longer  part  of  it  by  far  is  in  Canada. 
Its  western  shore  is  bold  and  picturesque,  being 
skirted  by  a  detachment  of  the  Green  Mountains, 
the  main  range  of  which  is  seen  careering  along  the 
horizon  far  to  the  southwest;  to  the  east  and  north, 
whither  the  railroad  takes  you,  the  country  is  flat 
and  monotonous. 


THE   HALCYON  IN   CANADA  191 

The  first  peculiarity  one  notices  about  the  farms 
in  this  northern  country  is  the  close  proximity  of 
the  house  and  barn,  in  most  cases  the  two  buildings 
touching  at  some  point,  —  an  arrangement  doubtless 
prompted  by  the  deep  snows  and  severe  cold  of  this 
latitude.  The  typical  Canadian  dwellinghouse  is 
also  presently  met  with  on  entering  the  Dominion, 
—  a  low,  modest  structure  of  hewn  spruce  logs,  with 
a  steep  roof  (containing  two  or  more  dormer  win- 
dows) that  ends  in  a  smart  curve,  a  hint  taken  from 
the  Chinese  pagoda.  Even  in  the  more  costly  brick 
or  stone  houses  in  the  towns  and  vicinity  this  style 
is  adhered  to.  It  is  so  universal  that  one  wonders 
if  the  reason  of  it  also  be  not  in  the  climate,  the 
outward  curve  of  the  roof  shooting  the  sliding  snow 
farther  away  from  the  dwelling.  It  affords  a  wide 
projection,  in  many  cases  covering  a  veranda,  and  in 
all  cases  protecting  the  doors  and  windows  without 
interfering  with  the  light.  In  the  better  class  of 
clapboarded  houses  the  finish  beneath  the  project- 
ing eaves  is  also  a  sweeping  curve,  opposing  and 
bracing  that  of  the  roof.  A  two-story  country 
house,  or  a  Mansard  roof,  I  do  not  remember  to 
have  seen  in  Canada;  but  in  places  they  have  be- 
come so  enamored  of  the  white  of  the  snow  that  they 
even  whitewash  the  roofs  of  their  buildings,  giving  a 
cluster  of  them  the  impression,  at  a  distance,  of  an 
encampment  of  great  tents. 

As  we  neared  Point  Levi,  opposite  Quebec,  we 
got  our  first  view  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  "Iliad  of 
rivers ! "  exclaimed  my  friend.  "  Yet  unsung !  " 


192  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

The  Hudson  must  take  a  back  seat  now,  and  a  good 
way  back.  One  of  the  two  or  three  great  water- 
courses of  the  globe  is  before  you.  No  other  river, 
I  imagine,  carries  such  a  volume  of  pure  cold  water 
to  the  sea.  Nearly  all  its  feeders  are  trout  and 
salmon  streams,  and  what  an  airing  and  what  a 
bleaching  it  gets  on  its  course!  Its  history,  its  an- 
tecedents, are  unparalleled.  The  great  lakes  are  its 
camping  grounds;  here  its  hosts  repose  under  the 
sun  and  stars  in  areas  like  that  of  states  and  king- 
doms, and  it  is  its  waters  that  shake  the  earth  at 
Niagara.  Where  it  receives  the  Saguenay  it  is 
twenty  miles  wide,  and  when  it  debouches  into  the 
Gulf  it  is  a  hundred.  Indeed,  it  is  a  chain  of  Ho- 
meric sublimities  from  beginning  to  end.  The  great 
cataract  is  a  fit  sequel  to  the  great  lakes;  the  spirit 
that  is  born  in  vast  and  tempestuous  Superior  takes 
its  full  glut  of  power  in  that  fearful  chasm.  If 
paradise  is  hinted  in  the  Thousand  Islands,  hell  is 
unveiled  in  that  pit  of  terrors. 

Its  last  escapade  is  the  great  rapids  above  Mon- 
treal, down  which  the  steamer  shoots  with  its  breath- 
less passengers,  after  which,  inhaling  and  exhaling 
its  mighty  tides,  it  flows  calmly  to  the  sea. 

The  St.  Lawrence  is  the  type  of  nearly  all  the 
Canadian  rivers,  which  are  strung  with  lakes  and 
rapids  and  cataracts,  and  are  full  of  peril  and  ad- 
venture. 

Here  we  reach  the.  oldest  part  of  the  continent, 
geologists  tell  us ;  and  here  we  encounter  a  fragment 
of  the  Old  World  civilization.  Quebec  presents  the 


THE   HALCYON   IN   CANADA  193 

anomaly  of  a  mediaeval  European  city  in  the  midst 
of  the  American  landscape.  This  air,  this  sky,  these 
clouds,  these  trees,  the  look  of  these  fields,  are  what 
we  have  always  known ;  but  these  houses,  and  streets, 
and  vehicles,  and  language,  and  physiognomy  are 
strange.  As  I  walked  upon  the  grand  terrace  I  saw 
the  robin  and  kingbird  and  song  sparrow,  and  there 
in  the  tree,  by  the  Wolfe  Monument,  our  summer 
warbler  was  at  home.  I  presently  saw,  also,  that 
our  republican  crow  was  a  British  subject,  and  that 
he  behaved  here  more  like  his  European  brother  than 
he  does  in  the  States,  being  less  wild  and  suspicious. 
On  the  Plains  of  Abraham  excellent  timothy  grass 
was  growing  and  cattle  were  grazing.  We  found  a 
path  through  the  meadow,  and,  with  the  exception 
of  a  very  abundant  weed  with  a  blue  flower,  saw 
nothing  new  or  strange,  —  nothing  but  the  steep  tin 
roofs  of  the  city  and  its  frowning  wall  and  citadel. 
Sweeping  around  the  far  southern  horizon,  we  could 
catch  glimpses  of  mountains  that  were  evidently  in 
Maine  or  New  Hampshire;  while  twelve  or  fifteen 
miles  to  the  north  the  Laurentian  ranges,  dark  and 
formidable,  arrested  the  eye.  Quebec,  or  the  walled 
part  of  it,  is  situated  on  a  point  of  land  shaped  not 
unlike  the  human  foot,  looking  northeast,  the  higher 
and  bolder  side  being  next  the  river,  with  the  main 
part  of  the  town  on  the  northern  slope  toward  the 
St.  Charles.  Its  toes  are  well  down  in  the  mud 
where  this  stream  joins  the  St.  Lawrence,  while  the 
citadel  is  high  on  the  instep  and  commands  the  whole 
field.  The  grand  Battery  is  a  little  below,  on  the 


194  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

brink  of  the  instep,  so  to  speak,  and  the  promenader 
looks  down  several  hundred  feet  into  the  tops  of  the 
chimneys  of  this  part  of  the  lower  town,  and  upon 
the  great  river  sweeping  by  northeastward  like 
another  Amazon.  The  heel  of  our  misshapen  foot 
extends  indefinitely  toward  Montreal.  Upon  it,  on 
a  level  with  the  citadel,  are  the  Plains  of  Abraham. 
It  was  up  its  high,  almost  perpendicular,  sides  that 
Wolfe  clambered  with  his  army,  and  stood  in  the 
rear  of  his  enemy  one  pleasant  September  morning 
over  a  hundred  years  ago. 

To  the  north  and  northeast  of  Quebec,  and  in  full 
view  from  the  upper  parts  of  the  city,  lies  a  rich  belt 
of  agricultural  country,  sloping  gently  toward  the 
river,  and  running  parallel  with  it  for  many  miles, 
called  the  Beauport  slopes.  The  division  of  the 
land  into  uniform  parallelograms,  as  in  France,  was 
a  marked  feature,  and  is  so  throughout  the  Domin- 
ion. A  road  ran  through  the  midst  of  it  lined  with 
trees,  and  leading  to  the  falls  of  the  Montmorenci. 
I  imagine  that  this  section  is  the  garden  of  Quebec. 
Beyond  it  rose  the  mountains.  Our  eyes  looked 
wistfully  toward  them,  for  we  had  decided  to  pene- 
trate the  Canadian  woods  in  that  direction. 

One  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  from  Quebec 
as  the  loon  flies,  almost  due  north  over  unbroken 
spruce  forests,  lies  Lake  St.  John,  the  cradle  of  the 
terrible  Saguenay.  On  the  map  it  looks  like  a  great 
cuttlefish  with  its  numerous  arms  and  tentacula  reach- 
ing out  in  all  directions  into  the  wilds.  It  is  a  large 
oval  body  of  water  thirty  miles  in  its  greatest  diam- 


THE   HALCYON   IN   CANADA  195 

eter.  The  season  here,  owing  to  a  sharp  northern 
sweep  of  the  isothermal  lines,  is  two  or  three  weeks 
earlier  than  at  Quebec.  The  soil  is  warm  and  fer- 
tile, and  there  is  a  thrifty  growing  settlement  here 
with  valuable  agricultural  produce,  but  no  market 
nearer  than  Quebec,  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
distant  by  water,  with  a  hard,  tedious  land  journey 
besides.  In  winter  the  settlement  can  have  little 
or  no  communication  with  the  outside  world. 

To  relieve  this  isolated  colony  and  encourage  fur- 
ther development  of  the  St.  John  region,  the  Cana- 
dian government  is  building 1  a  wagon-road  through 
the  wilderness  from  Quebec  directly  to  the  lake,  thus 
economizing  half  the  distance,  as  the  road  when 
completed  will  form  with  the  old  route,  the  Sague- 
nay  and  St.  Lawrence,  one  side  of  an  equilateral  tri- 
angle. A  railroad  was  projected  a  few  years  ago 
over  nearly  the  same  ground,  and  the  contract  to 
build  it  given  to  an  enterprising  Yankee,  who  pock- 
eted a  part  of  the  money  and  has  never  been  heard 
of  since.  The  road  runs  for  one  hundred  miles 
through  an  unbroken  wilderness,  and  opens  up  scores 
of  streams  and  lakes  abounding  with  trout,  into 
which,  until  the  road-makers  fished  them,  no  white 
man  had  ever  cast  a  hook. 

It  was  a  good  prospect,  and  we  resolved  to  com- 
mit ourselves  to  the  St.  John  road.  The  services 
of  a  young  fellow  whom,  by  reason  of  his  impracti- 
cable French  name,  we  called  Joe,  was  secured,  and 
after  a  delay  of  twenty-four  hours  we  were  packed 
i  Written  in  1877. 


196       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HONEY 

upon  a  Canadian  buckboard  with  hard-tack  in  one 
bag  and  oats  in  another,  and  the  journey  began.  It 
was  Sunday,  and  we  held  up  our  heads  more  confi- 
dently when  we  got  beyond  the  throng  of  well- 
dressed  church-goers.  For  ten  miles  we  had  a  good 
stone  road  and  rattled  along  it  at  a  lively  pace.  In 
about  half  that  distance  we  came  to  a  large  brick 
church,  where  we  began  to  see  the  rural  population 
or  habitans.  They  came  mostly  in  two-wheeled 
vehicles,  some  of  the  carts  quite  fancy,  in  which 
the  yoiing  fellows  rode  complacently  beside  their 
girls.  The  two-wheeler  predominates  in  Canada, 
and  is  of  all  styles  and  sizes.  After  we  left  the 
stone  road,  we  began  to  encounter  the  hills  that  are 
preliminary  to  the  mountains.  The  farms  looked 
like  the  wilder  and  poorer  parts  of  Maine  or  New 
Hampshire.  While  Joe  was  getting  a  supply  of 
hay  of  a  farmer  to  take  into  the  woods  for  his  horse, 
I  walked  through  a  field  in  quest  of  wild  strawber- 
ries. The  season  for  them  was  past,  it  being  the 
20th  of  July,  and  I  found  barely  enough  to  make 
me  think  that  the  strawberry  here  is  far  less  pun- 
gent and  high-flavored  than  with  us. 

The  cattle  in  the  fields  and  by  the  roadside  looked 
very  small  and  delicate,  the  effect,  no  doubt,  of  the 
severe  climate.  We  saw  many  rude  implements  of 
agriculture,  such  as  wooden  plows  shod  with  iron. 

We  passed  several  parties  of  men,  women,  and 
children  from  Quebec  picnicking  in  the  "bush." 
Here  it  was  little  more  than  a  "bush;"  but  while 
in  Canada  we  never  heard  the  woods  designated  by 


THE   HALCYON   IN  CANADA  197 

any  other  term.  I  noticed,  also,  that  when  a  dis- 
tance of  a  few  miles  or  of  a  fraction  of  a  mile  is  to 
be  designated,  the  French  Canadian  does  not  use  the 
term  "miles,"  hut  says  it 's  so  many  acres  through, 
or  to  the  next  place. 

This  fondness  for  the  "  bush  "  at  this  season  seems 
quite  a  marked  feature  in  the  social  life  of  the  aver- 
age Quebecker,  and  is  one  of  the  original  French 
traits  that  holds  its  own  among  them.  Parties  leave 
the  city  in  carts  and  wagons  by  midnight,  or  earlier, 
and  drive  out  as  far  as  they  can  the  remainder  of 
the  night,  in  order  to  pass  the  whole  Sunday  in  the 
woods,  despite  the  mosquitoes  and  black  flies.  Those 
we  saw  seemed  a  decent,  harmless  set,  whose  idea 
of  a  good  time  was  to  be  in  the  open  air,  and  as  far 
into  the  "  bush  "  as  possible. 

The  post-road,  as  the  new  St.  John's  road  is  also 
called,  begins  twenty  miles  from  Quebec  at  Stone- 
ham,  the  farthest  settlement.  Five  miles  into  the 
forest  upon  the  new  road  is  the  hamlet  of  La  Chance 
(pronounced  La  Shaunce),  the  last  house  till  you 
reach  the  lake,  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  dis- 
tant. Our  destination  the  first  night  was  La 
Chance's;  this  would  enable  us  to  reach  the  Jacques 
Cartier  Eiver,  forty  miles  farther,  where  we  proposed 
to  encamp,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day. 

We  were  now  fairly  among  the  mountains,  and 
the  sun  was  well  down  behind  the  trees  when  we 
entered  upon  the  post- road.  It  proved  to  be  a  wide, 
well-built  highway,  grass-grown,  but  in  good  condi- 
tion. After  an  hour's  travel  we  began  to  see  signs 


198  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

of  a  clearing,  and  about  six  o'clock  drew  up  in  front 
of  the  long,  low,  log  habitation  of  La  Chance.  Their 
hearthstone  was  outdoor  at  this  season,  and  its 
smoke  rose  through  the  still  atmosphere  in  a  frail 
column  toward  the  sky.  The  family  was  gathered 
here  and  welcomed  us  cordially  as  we  drew  up,  the 
master  shaking  us  by  the  hand  as  if  we  were  old 
friends.  His  English  was  very  poor,  and  our  French 
was  poorer,  but,  with  Joe  as  a  bridge  between  us, 
communication  on  a  pitch  was  kept  up.  His  wife 
could  speak  no  English;  but  her  true  French  po- 
liteness and  graciousness  was  a  language  we  could 
readily  understand.  Our  supper  was  got  ready  from 
our  own  supplies,  while  we  sat  or  stood  in  the  open 
air  about  the  fire.  The  clearing  comprised  fifty  or 
sixty  acres  of  rough  land  in  the  bottom  of  a  narrow 
valley,  and  bore  indifferent  crops  of  oats,  barley, 
potatoes,  and  timothy  grass.  The  latter  was  just  in 
bloom,  being  a  month  or  more  later  than  with  us. 
The  primitive  woods,  mostly  of  birch  with  a  sprink- 
ling of  spruce,  put  a  high  cavernous  wall  about  the 
scene.  How  sweetly  the  birds  sang,  their  notes 
seeming  to  have  unusual  strength  and  volume  in  this 
forest- bound  opening !  The  principal  singer  was  the 
white-throated  sparrow,  which  we  heard  and  saw 
everywhere  on  the  route.  He  is  called  here  la 
slffleur  (the  whistler),  and  very  delightful  his  whis- 
tle was.  From  the  forest  came  the  evening  hymn 
of  a  thrush,  the  olive-backed  perhaps,  like,  but  less 
clear  and  full  than,  the  veery's. 

In  the  evening  we  sat  about  the  fire  in  rude  home- 


THE   HALCYON  IN  CANADA  199 

made  chairs,  and  had  such  broken  and  disjointed 
talk  as  we  could  manage.  Our  host  had  lived  in 
Quebec  and  been  a  school-teacher  there;  he  had 
wielded  the  birch  until  he  lost  his  health,  when  he 
came  here  and  the  birches  gave  it  back  to  him.  He 
was  now  hearty  and  well,  and  had  a  family  of  six  or 
seven  children  about  him. 

We  were  given  a  good  bed  that  night,  and  fared 
better  than  we  expected.  About  one  o'clock  I  was 
awakened  by  suppressed  voices  outside  the  window. 
Who  could  it  be  ?  Had  a  band  of  brigands  sur- 
rounded the  house  ?  As  our  outfit  and  supplies  had 
not  been  removed  from  the  wagon  in  front  of  the 
door  I  got  up,  and,  lifting  one  corner  of  the  window 
paper,  peeped  out :  I  saw  in  the  dim  moonlight  four 
or  five  men  standing  about  engaged  in  low  conversa- 
tion. Presently  one  of  the  men  advanced  to  the 
door  and  began  to  rap  and  call  the  name  of  our  host. 
Then  I  knew  their  errand  was  not  hostile;  but  the 
weird  effect  of  that  regular  alternate  rapping  and 
calling  ran  through  my  dream  all  the  rest  of  the 
night.  Rat-tat,  tat,  tat,  —  La  Chance ;  rat-tat, 
tat,  —  La  Chance,  five  or  six  times  repeated  before 
La  Chance  heard  and  responded.  Then  the  door 
opened  and  they  came  in,  when  it  was  jabber,  jab- 
ber, jabber  in  the  next  room  till  I  fell  asleep. 

In  the  morning,  to  my  inquiry  as  to  who  the  trav- 
elers were  and  what  they  wanted,  La  Chance  said 
they  were  old  acquaintances  going  a-fishing,  and  had 
stopped  to  have  a  little  talk. 

Breakfast  was  served  early,  and  we  were  upon  the 


200  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD  HONEY 

road  before  the  sun.  Then  began  a  forty-mile  ricfe 
through  a  dense  Canadian  spruce  forest  over  the 
drift  and  bowlders  of  the  paleozoic  age.  Up  to  this 
point  the  scenery  had  been  quite  familiar,  —  not 
much  unlike  that  of  the  Catskills,  —  but  now  there 
was  a  change;  the  birches  disappeared,  except  now 
and  then  a  slender  white  or  paper  birch,  and  spruce 
everywhere  prevailed.  A  narrow  belt  on  each  side 
of  the  road  had  been  blasted  by  fire,  and  the  dry, 
white  stems  of  the  trees  stood  stark  and  stiff.  The 
road  ran  pretty  straight,  skirting  the  mountains  and 
threading  the  valleys,  and  hour  after  hour  the  dark, 
silent  woods  wheeled  past  us.  Swarms  of  black  flies 
—  those  insect  wolves  —  waylaid  us  and  hung  to 
us  till  a  smart  spurt  of  the  horse,  where  the  road 
favored,  left  them  behind.  But  a  species  of  large 
horse-fly,  black  and  vicious,  it  was  not  so  easy  to 
get  rid  of.  When  they  alighted  upon  the  horse  we 
would  demolish  them  with  the  whip  or  with  our  felt 
hats,  a  proceeding  the  horse  soon  came  to  understand 
and  appreciate.  The  white  and  gray  Laurentian 
bowlders  lay  along  the  roadside.  The  soil  seemed 
as  if  made  up  of  decayed  and  pulverized  rock,  and 
doubtless  contained  very  little  vegetable  matter.  It 
is  so  barren  that  it  will  never  repay  clearing  and 
cultivating. 

Our  course  was  an  up-grade  toward  the  highlands 
that  separate  the  watershed  of  St.  John  Lake  from 
that  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  as  we  proceeded  the 
spruce  became  smaller  and  smaller  till  the  trees  were 
seldom  more  than  eight  or  ten  inches  in  diameter. 


THE   HALCYON   IN  CANADA  201 

Nearly  all  of  them  terminated  in  a  dense  tuft  at  the 
top,  beneath  which  the  stem  would  be  bare  for  sev- 
eral feet,  giving  them  the  appearance,  my  friend 
said,  as  they  stood  sharply  defined  along  the  crests 
of  the  mountains,  of  cannon  swabs.  Endless,  inter- 
minable successions  of  these  cannon  swabs,  each  just 
like  its  fellow,  came  and  went,  came  and  went,  all 
day.  Sometimes  we  could  see  the  road  a  mile  or 
two  ahead,  and  it  was  as  lonely  and  solitary  as  a 
path  in  the  desert.  Periods  of  talk  and  song  and 
jollity  were  succeeded  by  long  stretches  of  silence. 
A  buckboard  upon  such  a  road  does  not  conduce  to 
a  continuous  flow  of  animal  spirits.  A  good  brace 
for  the  foot  and  a  good  hold  for  the  hand  is  one's 
main  lookout  much  of  the  time.  We  walked  up  the 
steeper  hills,  one  of  them  nearly  a  mile  long,  then 
clung  grimly  to  the  board  during  the  rapid  descent 
of  the  other  side. 

We  occasionally  saw  a  solitary  pigeon  —  in  every 
instance  a  cock  —  leading  a  forlorn  life  in  the  wood, 
a  hermit  of  his  kind,  or  more  probably  a  rejected 
and  superfluous  male.  We  came  upon  two  or  three 
broods  of  spruce  grouse  in  the  road,  so  tame  that 
one  could  have  knocked  them  over  with  poles.  We 
passed  many  beautiful  lakes ;  among  others,  the  Two 
Sisters,  one  on  each  side  of  the  road.  At  noon  we 
paused  at  a  lake  in  a  deep  valley,  and  fed  the  horse 
and  had  lunch.  I  was  not  long  in  getting  ready  my 
fishing  tackle,  and,  upon  a  raft  made  of  two  logs 
pinned  together,  floated  out  upon  the  lake  and  quickly 
took  all  the  trout  we  wanted. 


202       LOCUSTS  AND  WILD  HOXEY 

Early  in  the  afternoon  we  entered  upon  what  is 
called  La  Grande  Brulure,  or  Great  Burning,  and 
to  the  desolation  of  living  woods  succeeded  the 
greater  desolation  of  a  blighted  forest.  All  the 
mountains  and  valleys,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
had  been  swept  by  the  fire,  and  the  bleached  and 
ghostly  skeletons  of  the  trees  alone  met  the  gaze. 
The  fire  had  come  over  from  the  Saguenay,  a  hun- 
dred or  more  miles  to  the  east,  seven  or  eight  years 
before,  and  had  consumed  or  blasted  everything  in 
its  way.  We  saw  the  skull  of  a  moose  said  to  have 
perished  in  the  fire.  For  three  hours  we  rode 
through  this  valley  and  shadow  of  death.  In  the 
midst  of  it,  where  the  trees  had  nearly  all  disap- 
peared, and  where  the  ground  was  covered  with 
coarse  wild  grass,  we  came  upon  the  Morancy  Eiver, 
a  placid  yellow  stream  twenty  or  twenty-five  yards 
wide,  abounding  with  trout.  We  walked  a  short 
distance  along  its  banks  and  peered  curiously  into 
its  waters.  The  mountains  on  either  hand  had  been 
burned  by  the  fire  until  in  places  their  great  granite 
bones  were  bare  and  white. 

At  another  point  we  were  within  ear-shot,  for  a 
mile  or  more,  of  a  brawling  stream  in  the  valley  be- 
low us,  and  now  and  then  caught  a  glimpse  of  foam- 
ing rapids  or  cascades  through  the  dense  spruce,  — 
a  trout  stream  that  probably  no  man  had  ever  fished, 
as  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  do  so  in  such  a 
maze  and  tangle  of  woods. 

We  neither  met,  nor  passed,  nor  saw  any  travelers 
till  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  we  descried  far  ahead 


THE   HALCYON  IN   CANADA  203 

a  man  on  horseback.  It  was  a  welcome  relief.  It 
was  like  a  sail  at  sea.  When  he  saw  us  he  drew 
rein  and  awaited  our  approach.  He,  too,  had  prob- 
ably tired  of  the  solitude  and  desolation  of  the  road. 
He  proved  to  be  a  young  Canadian  going  to  join  the 
gang  of  workmen  at  the  farther  end  of  the  road. 
.  About  four  o'clock  we  passed  another  small  lake, 
and  in  a  few  moments  more  drew  up  at  the  bridge 
over  the  Jacques  Cartier  River,  and  our  forty-mile 
ride  was  finished.  There  was  a  stable  here  that  had 
been  used  by  the  road-builders,  and  was  now  used 
by  the  teams  that  hauled  in  their  supplies.  This 
would  do  for  the  horse;  a  snug  log  shanty  built  by 
an  old  trapper  and  hunter  for  use  in  the  winter,  a 
hundred  yards  below  the  bridge,  amid  the  spruces 
on  the  bank  of  the  river,  when  rebedded  and  refur- 
nished, would  do  for  us.  The  river  at  this  point 
was  a  swift,  black  stream  from  thirty  to  forty  feet 
wide,  with  a  strength  and  a  bound  like  a  moose. 
It  was  not  shrunken  and  emaciated,  like  similar 
streams  in  a  cleared  country,  but  full,  copious,  and 
strong.  Indeed,  one  can  hardly  realize  how  the 
lesser  watercourses  have  suffered  by  the  denuding  of 
the  land  of  its  forest  covering,  until  he  goes  into 
the  primitive  woods  and  sees  how  bounding  and 
athletic  they  are  there.  They  are  literally  well  fed 
and  their  measure  of  life  is  full.  In  fact,  a  trout 
brook  is  as  much  a  thing  of  the  woods  as  a  moose  or 
deer,  and  will  not  thrive  well  in  the  open  country. 

Three   miles   above  our  camp   was   Great  Lake 
Jacques  Cartier,  the  source  of  the  river,  a  sheet  of 


204  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

water  nine  miles  long  and  from  one  to  three  wide; 
fifty  rods  below  was  Little  Lake  Jacques  Cartier,  an 
irregular  body  about  two  miles  across.  Stretching 
away  on  every  hand,  bristling  on  the  mountains  and 
darkling  in  the  valleys,  was  the  illimitable  spruce 
woods.  The  moss  in  them  covered  the  ground 
nearly  knee-deep,  and  lay  like  newly  fallen  snow, 
hiding  rocks  and  logs,  filling  depressions,  and  muf- 
fling the  foot.  When  it  was  dry,  one  could  find  a 
most  delightful  couch  anywhere. 

The  spruce  seems  to  have  colored  the  water, 
which  is  a  dark  amber  color,  but  entirely  sweet  and 
pure.  There  needed  no  better  proof  of  the  latter 
fact  than  the  trout  with  which  it  abounded,  and 
their  clear  and  vivid  tints.  In  its  lower  portions 
near  the  St.  Lawrence,  the  Jacques  Cartier  River  is 
a  salmon  stream,  but  these  fish  have  never  been 
found  as  near  its  source  as  we  were,  though  there  is 
no  apparent  reason  why  they  should  not  be. 

There  is  perhaps  no  moment  in  the  life  of  an 
angler  fraught  with  so  much  eagerness  and  impa- 
tience as  when  he  first  finds  himself  upon  the  bank 
of  a  new  and  long-sought  stream.  When  I  was  a 
boy  and  used  to  go  a-fishing,  I  could  seldom  restrain 
my  eagerness  after  I  arrived  in  sight  of  the  brook 
or  pond,  and  must  needs  run  the  rest  of  the  way. 
Then  the  delay  in  rigging  my  tackle  was  a  trial  my 
patience  was  never  quite  equal  to.  After  I  had 
made  a  few  casts,  or  had  caught  one  fish,  I  could 
pause  and  adjust  my  line  properly.  I  found  some 
remnant  of  the  old  enthusiasm  still  in  me  when  I 


THE  HALCYON  IN  CANADA       205 

sprang  from  the  buckboard  that  afternoon  and  saw 
the  strange  river  rushing  by.  I  would  have  given 
something  if  my  tackle  had  been  rigged  so  that  I 
could  have  tried  on  the  instant  the  temper  of  the 
trout  that  had  just  broken  the  surface  within  easy 
reach  of  the  shore.  But  I  had  anticipated  this  mo- 
ment coming  along,  and  had  surreptitiously  undone 
my  rod- case  and  got  my  reel  out  of  my  bag,  and 
was  therefore  a  few  moments  ahead  of  my  compan- 
ion in  making  the  first  cast.  The  trout  rose  readily, 
and  almost  too  soon  we  had  more  than  enough  for 
dinner,  though  no  "  rod-smashers  "  had  been  seen  or 
felt.  Our  experience  the  next  morning,  and  during 
the  day  and  the  next  morning,  in  the  lake,  in  the 
rapids,  in  the  pools,  was  about  the  same:  there  was 
a  surfeit  of  trout  eight  or  ten  inches  long,  though 
we  rarely  kept  any  under  ten,  but  the  big  fish  were 
lazy  and  would  not  rise;  they  were  in  the  deepest 
water  and  did  not  like  to  get  up. 

The  third  day,  in  the  afternoon,  we  had  our  first 
and  only  thorough  sensation  in  the  shape  of  a  big 
trout.  It  came  none  too  soon.  The  interest  had 
begun  to  flag.  But  one  big  fish  a  week  will  do.  It 
is  a  pinnacle  of  delight  in  the  angler's  experience 
that  he  may  well  be  three  days  in  working  up  to, 
and,  once  reached,  it  is  three  days  down  to  the  old 
humdrum  level  again.  At  least  it  is  with  me.  It 
was  a  dull,  rainy  day ;  the  fog  rested  low  upon  the 
mountains,  and  the  time  hung  heavily  upon  our 
hands.  About  three  o'clock  the  rain  slackened  and 
we  emerged  from  our  den,  Joe  going  to  look  after 


206  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD   HONEY 

his  horse,  which  had  eaten  but  little  since  coming 
into  the  woods,  the  poor  creature  was  so  disturbed 
by  the  loneliness  and  the  black  flies;  I,  to  make 
preparations  for  dinner,  while  my  companion  lazily 
took  his  rod  and  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  big  pool 
in  front  of  camp.  At  the  first  introductory  cast, 
and  when  his  fly  was  not  fifteen  feet  from  him  upon 
the  water,  there  was  a  lunge  and  a  strike,  and  ap- 
parently the  fisherman  had  hooked  a  bowlder.  I  was 
standing  a  few  yards  below,  engaged  in  washing  out 
the  coffee-pail,  when  I  heard  him  call  out :  — 

"  I  have  got  him  now !  " 

"  Yes,  I  see  you  have, "  said  I,  noticing  his  bend- 
ing pole  and  moveless  line;  "when  I  am  through, 
I  will  help  you  get  loose." 

"No,  but  I'm  not  joking,"  said  he;  "I  have 
got  a  big  fish." 

I  looked  up  again,  but  saw  no  reason  to  change 
my  impression,  and  kept  on  with  my  work. 

It  is  proper  to  say  that  my  companion  was  a  nov- 
ice at  fly-fishing,  never  having  cast  a  fly  till  upon 
this  trip. 

Again  he  called  out  to  me,  but,  deceived  by  his 
coolness  and  nonchalant  tones,  and  by  the  lethargy 
of  the  fish,  I  gave  little  heed.  I  knew  very  well 
that,  if  I  had  struck  a  fish  that  held  me  down  in  that 
way,  I  should  have  been  going  through  a  regular 
war-dance  on  that  circle  of  bowlder-tops,  and  should 
have  scared  the  game  into  activity  if  the  hook  had 
failed  to  wake  him  up.  But  as  the  farce  continued 
I  drew  near. 


THE   HALCYON  IN  CANADA  207 

"  Does  that  look  like  a  stone  or  a  log  1 "  said  my 
friend,  pointing  to  his  quivering  line,  slowly  cutting 
the  current  up  toward  the  centre  of  the  pool. 

My  skepticism  vanished  in  an  instant,  and  I  could 
hardly  keep  my  place  on  the  top  of  the  rock. 

"I  can  feel  him  breathe,"  said  the  now  warming 
fisherman;  "just  feel  of  that  pole !  " 

I  put  my  eager  hand  upon  the  butt,  and  could 
easily  imagine  I  felt  the  throb  or  pant  of  something 
alive  down  there  in  the  black  depths.  But  whatever 
it  was  moved  about  like  a  turtle.  My  companion 
was  praying  to  hear  his  reel  spin,  but  it  gave  out 
now  and  then  only  a  few  hesitating  clicks.  Still 
the  situation  was  excitingly  dramatic,  and  we  were 
all  actors.  I  rushed  for  the  landing-net,  but,  being 
unable  to  find  it,  shouted  desperately  for  Joe,  who 
came  hurrying  back,  excited  before  he  had  learned 
what  the  matter  was.  The  net  had  been  left  at  the 
lake  below,  and  must  be  had  with  the  greatest  dis- 
patch. In  the  mean  time  I  skipped  about  from 
bowlder  to  bowlder  as  the  fish  worked  this  way  or 
that  about  the  pool,  peering  into  the  water  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  him,  for  he  had  begun  to  yield  a  little 
to  the  steady  strain  that  was  kept  upon  him.  Pres- 
ently I  saw  a  shadowy,  unsubstantial  something  just 
emerge  from  the  black  depths,  then  vanish.  Then 
I  saw  it  again,  and  this  time  the  huge  proportions 
of  the  fish  were  faintly  outlined  by  the  white  facings 
of  his  fins.  The  sketch  lasted  but  a  twinkling;  it 
was  only  a  flitting  shadow  upon  a  darker  background, 
but  it  gave  me  the  profoundest  Ike  Walton  thrill  I 


208  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

ever  experienced.  I  had  been  a  fisher  from  my  ear- 
liest boyhood.  I  came  from  a  race  of  fishers ;  trout 
streams  gurgled  about  the  roots  of  the  family  tree, 
and  there  was  a  long  accumulated  and  transmitted 
tendency  and  desire  in  me  that  that  sight  gratified. 
I  did  not  wish  the  pole  in  my  own  hands;  there 
was  quite  enough  electricity  overflowing  from  it  and 
filling  the  air  for  me.  The  fish  yielded  more  and 
more  to  the  relentless  pole,  till,  in  about  fifteen 
minutes  from  the  time  he  was  struck,  he  came  to  the 
surface,  then  made  a  little  whirlpool  where  he  dis- 
appeared again. 

But  presently  he  was  up  a  second  time,  and  lash- 
ing the  water  into  foam  as  the  angler  led  him  toward 
the  rock  upon  which  I  was  perched  net  in  hand. 
As  I  reached  toward  him,  down  he  went  again,  and, 
taking  another  circle  of  the  pool,  came  up  still  more 
exhausted,  when,  between  his  paroxysms,  I  carefully 
ran  the  net  over  him  and  lifted  him  ashore,  amid, 
it  is  needless  to  say,  the  wildest  enthusiasm  of  the 
spectators.  The  congratulatory  laughter  of  the  loons 
down  on  the  lake  showed  how  even  the  outsiders 
sympathized.  Much  larger  trout  have  been  taken 
in  these  waters  and  in  others,  but  this  fish  would 
have  swallowed  any  three  we  had  ever  before  caught. 

"What  does  he  weigh?  "  was  the  natural  inquiry 
of  each;  and  we  took  turns  "hefting"  him.  But 
gravity  was  less  potent  to  us  just  then  than  usual, 
and  the  fish  seemed  astonishingly  light. 

"Pour  pounds,"  we  said;  but  Joe  said  more.  So 
we  improvised  a  scale:  a  long  strip  of  board  was 


THE   HALCYON  IN  CANADA  209 

balanced  across  a  stick,  and  our  groceries  served  as 
weights.  A  four-pound  package  of  sugar  kicked 
the  beam  quickly;  a  pound  of  coffee  was  added; 
still  it  went  up;  then  a  pound  of  tea,  and  still  the 
fish  had  a  little  the  best  of  it.  But  we  called  it  six 
pounds,  not  to  drive  too  sharp  a  bargain  with  for- 
tune, and  were  more  than  satisfied.  Such  a  beauti- 
ful creature !  marked  in  every  respect  like  a  trout  of 
six  inches.  We  feasted  our  eyes  upon  him  for  half 
an  hour.  We  stretched  him  upon  the  ground  and 
admired  him;  we  laid  him  across  a  log  and  with- 
drew a  few  paces  and  admired  him ;  we  hung  him 
against  the  shanty,  and  turned  our  heads  from  side 
to  side  as  women  do  when  they  are  selecting  dress 
goods,  the  better  to  take  in  the  full  force  of  the 
effect. 

He  graced  the  board  or  stump  that  afternoon,  and 
was  the  sweetest  fish  we  had  taken.  The  flesh  was 
a  deep  salmon-color  and  very  rich.  We  had  before 
discovered  that  there  were  two  varieties  of  trout  in 
these  waters,  irrespective  of  size,  — the  red-fleshed 
and  the  white-fleshed,  —  and  that  the  former  were 
the  better. 

This  success  gave  an  impetus  to  our  sport  that 
carried  us  through  the  rest  of  the  week  finely.  We 
had  demonstrated  that  there  were  big  trout  here,  and 
that  they  would  rise  to  a  fly.  Henceforth  big  fish 
were  looked  to  as  a  possible  result  of  every  excur- 
sion. To  me,  especially,  the  desire  to  at  least  match 
my  companion,  who  had  been  my  pupil  in  the  art, 
was  keen  and  constant.  We  built  a  raft  of  logs 


210  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

and  upon  it  I  floated  out  upon  the  lake,  whipping 
its  waters  right  and  left,  morning,  noon,  and  night. 
Many  fine  trout  came  to  my  hand,  and  were  released 
because  they  did  not  fill  the  bill. 

The  lake  became  my  favorite  resort,  while  my 
companion  preferred  rather  the  shore  or  the  long 
still  pool  above,  where  there  was  a  rude  makeshift 
of  a  boat,  made  of  common  box-boards. 

Upon  the  lake  you  had  the  wildness  and  solitude 
at  arm's  length,  and  could  better  take  their  look  and 
measure.  You  became  something  apart  from  them ; 
you  emerged  and  had  a  vantage  ground  like  that  of 
a  mountain  peak,  and  could  contemplate  them  at 
your  ease.  Seated  upon  my  raft  and  slowly  car- 
ried by  the  current  or  drifted  by  the  breeze,  I  had 
many  a  long,  silent  look  into  the  face  of  the  wil- 
derness, and  found  the  communion  good.  I  was 
alone  with  the  spirit  of  the  forest-bound  lakes  and 
felt  its  presence  and  magnetism.  I  played  hide-and- 
seek  with  it  about  the  nooks  and  corners,  and  lay  in 
wait  for  it  upon  a  little  island  crowned  with  a  clump 
of  trees  that  was  moored  just  to  one  side  the  current 
near  the  head  of  the  lake. 

Indeed,  there  is  no  depth  of  solitude  that  the 
mind  does  not  endow  with  some  human  interest.  As 
in  a  dead  silence  the  ear  is  filled  with  its  own  mur- 
mur, so  amid  these  aboriginal  scenes  one's  feelings 
and  sympathies  become  external  to  him,  as  it  were, 
and  he  holds  converse  with  them.  Then  a  lake  is 
the  ear  as  well  as  the  eye  of  a  forest.  It  is  the  place 
to  go  to  listen  and  ascertain  what  sounds  are  abroad 


THE   HALCYON   IN   CANADA  211 

in  the  air.  They  all  run  quickly  thither  and  report. 
If  any  creature  had  called  in  the  forest  for  miles 
ahout,  I  should  have  heard  it.  At  times  I  could 
hear  the  distant  roar  of  water  off  beyond  the  outlet 
of  the  lake.  The  sound  of  the  vagrant  winds  purr- 
ing here  and  there  in  the  tops  of  the  spruces  reached 
my  ear.  A  breeze  would  come  slowly  down  the 
mountain,  then  strike  the  lake,  and  I  could  see  its 
footsteps  approaching  by  the  changed  appearance  of 
the  water.  How  slowly  the  winds  move  at  times, 
sauntering  like  one  on  a  Sunday  walk!  A  breeze 
always  enlivens  the  fish;  a  dead  calm  and  all  pen- 
nants sink,  your  activity  with  your  fly  is  ill-timed, 
and  you  soon  take  the  hint  and  stop.  Becalmed 
upon  my  raft,  I  observed,  as  I  have  often  done  be- 
fore, that  the  life  of  Nature  ebbs  and  flows,  comes 
and  departs,  in  these  wilderness  scenes ;  one  moment 
her  stage  is  thronged  and  the  next  quite  deserted. 
Then  there  is  a  wonderful  unity  of  movement  in  the 
two  elements,  air  and  water.  When  there  is  much 
going  on  in  one,  there  is  quite  sure  to  be  much 
going  on  in  the  other.  You  have  been  casting,  per- 
haps, for  an  hour  with  scarcely  a  jump  or  any  sign 
of  life  anywhere  about  you,  when  presently  the 
breeze  freshens  and  the  trout  begin  to  respond,  and 
then  of  a  sudden  all  the  performers  rush  in:  ducks 
come  sweeping  by ;  loons  laugh  and  wheel  overhead, 
then  approach  the  water  on  a  long,  gentle  incline, 
plowing  deeper  and  deeper  into  its  surface,  until 
their  momentum  is  arrested,  or  converted  into  foam ; 
the  fish  hawk  screams;  the  bald  eagle  goes  flapping 


212  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

by,  and  your  eyes  and  hands  are  full.     Then  the 
tide  ebbs,  and  both  fish  and  fowl  are  gone. 

Patiently  whipping  the  waters  of  the  lake  from 
my  rude  float,  I  became  an  object  of  great  interest 
to  the  loons.  I  had  never  seen  these  birds  before  in 
their  proper  habitat,  and  the  interest  was  mutual. 
When  they  had  paused  on  the  Hudson  during  their 
spring  and  fall  migrations,  I  had  pursued  them  in 
my  boat  to  try  to  get  near  them.  Now  the  case 
was  reversed;  I  was  the  interloper  now,  and  they 
would  come  out  and  study  me.  Sometimes  six  or 
eight  of  them  would  be  swimming  about  watching 
my  movements,  but  they  were  wary  and  made  a 
wide  circle.  One  day  one  of  their  number  volun- 
teered to  make  a  thorough  reconnoissance.  I  saw 
him  leave  his  comrades  and  swim  straight  toward 
me.  He  came  bringing  first  one  eye  to  bear  upon 
me,  then  the  other.  When  about  half  the  distance 
was  passed  over  he  began  to  waver  and  hesitate. 
To  encourage  him  I  stopped  casting,  and  taking  off 
my  hat  began  to  wave  it  slowly  to  and  fro,  as  in  the 
act  of  fanning  myself.  This  started  him  again,  — 
this  was  a  new  trait  in  the  creature  that  he  must 
scrutinize  more  closely.  On  he  came,  till  all  his 
markings  were  distinctly  seen.  With  one  hand  I 
pulled  a  little  revolver  from  my  hip  pocket,  and 
when  the  loon  was  about  fifty  yards  distant,  and  had 
begun  to  sidle  around  me,  I  fired :  at  the  flash  I  saw 
two  webbed  feet  twinkle  in  the  air,  and  the  loon 
was  gone!  Lead  could  not  have  gone  down  so 
quickly.  The  bullet  cut  across  the  circles  where  he 


THE   HALCYON   IN  CANADA  213 

disappeared.  In  a  few  moments  he  reappeared  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  away.  "  Ha-ha- ha-a-a," 
said  he,  "ha-ha-ha-a-a,"  and  "ha-ha- ha-a-a,"  said 
his  comrades,  who  had  been  looking  on ;  and  "  ha-ha- 
ha-a-a,"  said  we  all,  echo  included.  He  approached 
a  second  time,  but  not  so  closely,  and  when  I  began 
to  creep  back  toward  the  shore  with  my  heavy  craft, 
pawing  the  water  first  upon  one  side,  then  the  other, 
he  followed,  and  with  ironical  laughter  witnessed 
my  efforts  to  stem  the  current  at  the  head  of  the 
lake.  I  confess  it  was  enough  to  make  a  more  sol- 
emn bird  than  the  loon  laugh,  but  it  was  no  fun  for 
me,  and  generally  required  my  last  pound  of  steam. 

The  loons  flew  back  and  forth  from  one  lake  to 
the  other,  and  their  voices  were  about  the  only  nota- 
ble wild  sounds  to  be  heard. 

One  afternoon,  quite  unexpectedly,  I  struck  my 
big  fish  in  the  head  of  the  lake.  I  was  first  advised 
of  his  approach  by  two  or  three  trout  jumping  clear 
from  the  water  to  get  out  of  his  lordship's  way. 
The  water  was  not  deep  just  there,  and  he  swam  so 
near  the  surface  that  his  enormous  back  cut  through. 
With  a  swirl  he  swept  my  fly  under  and  turned. 

My  hook  was  too  near  home,  and  my  rod  too  near 
a  perpendicular  to  strike  well.  More  than  that,  my 
presence  of  mind  came  near  being  unhorsed  by  the 
sudden  apparition  of  the  fish.  If  I  could  have  had 
a  moment's  notice,  or  if  I  had  not  seen  the  monster, 
I  should  have  fared  better  and  the  fish  worse.  I 
struck,  but  not  with  enough  decision,  and,  before  I 
could  reel  up,  my  empty  hook  came  back.  The 


214  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

trout  had  carried  it  in  his  jaws  till  the  fraud  was 
detected,  and  then  spat  it  out.  He  came  a  second 
time  and  made  a  grand  commotion  in  the  water,  but 
not  in  my  nerves,  for  I  was  ready  then,  hut  failed 
to  take  the  fly,  and  so  to  get  his  weight  and  beauty 
in  these  pages.  As  my  luck  failed  me  at  the  last, 
I  will  place  my  loss  at  the  full  extent  of  the  law, 
and  claim  that  nothing  less  than  a  ten-pounder  was 
spirited  away  from  my  hand  that  day.  I  might  not 
have  saved  him,  netless  as  I  was  upon  my  cumbrous 
raft;  but  I  should  at  least  have  had  the  glory  of  the 
fight,  and  the  consolation  of  the  fairly  vanquished. 

These  trout  are  not  properly  lake  trout,  but  the 
common  brook  trout.  The  largest  ones  are  taken 
with  live  bait  through  the  ice  in  winter.  The  In- 
dians and  the  habitans  bring  them  out  of  the  wood 
from  here  and  from  Snow  Lake,  on  their  toboggans, 
from  two  and  a  half  to  three  feet  long.  They  have 
kinks  and  ways  of  their  own.  About  half  a  mile 
above  camp  we  discovered  a  deep  oval  bay  to  one 
side  the  main  current  of  the  river,  that  evidently 
abounded  in  big  fish.  Here  they  disported  them- 
selves. It  was  a  favorite  feeding  ground,  and  late 
every  afternoon  the  fish  rose  all  about  it,  making 
those  big  ripples  the  angler  delights  to  see.  A  trout, 
when  he  comes  to  the  surface,  starts  a  ring  about  his 
own  length  in  diameter;  most  of  the  rings  in  the 
pool,  when  the  eye  caught  them,  were  like  barrel 
hoops,  but  the  haughty  trout  ignored  all  our  best 
efforts;  not  one  rise  did  we  get.  We  were  told  of 
this  pool  on  our  return  to  Quebec,  and  that  other 


THE   HALCYON  IN   CANADA  215 

anglers  had  a  similar  experience  there.  But  occa- 
sionally some  old  fisherman,  like  a  great  advocate 
who  loves  a  difficult  case,  would  set  his  wits  to  work 
and  bring  into  camp  an  enormous  trout  taken  there. 

I  had  been  told  in  Quebec  that  I  would  not  see  a 
bird  in  the  woods,  not  a  feather  of  any  kind.  But 
I  knew  I  should,  though  they  were  not  numerous. 
I  saw  and  heard  a  bird  nearly  every  day,  on  the  tops 
of  the  trees  about,  that  I  think  was  one  of  the  cross- 
bills. The  kingfisher  was  there  ahead  of  us  with 
his  loud  clicking  reel.  The  osprey  was  there,  too, 
and  I  saw  him  abusing  the  bald  eagle,  who  had  prob- 
ably just  robbed  him  of  a  fish.  The  yellow-rumped 
warbler  I  saw,  and  one  of  the  kinglets  was  leading 
its  lisping  brood  about  through  the  spruces.  In 
every  opening  the  white-throated  sparrow  abounded, 
striking  up  his  clear  sweet  whistle,  at  times  so  loud 
and  sudden  that  one's  momentary  impression  was 
that  some  farm  boy  was  approaching,  or  was  secreted 
there  behind  the  logs.  Many  times,  amid  those 
primitive  solitudes,  I  was  quite  startled  by  the  hu- 
man tone  and  quality  of  this  whistle.  It  is  little 
more  than  a  beginning ;  the  bird  never  seems  to  fin- 
ish the  strain  suggested.  The  Canada  jay  was  there 
also,  very  busy  about  some  important  private  matter. 

One  lowery  morning,  as  I  was  standing  in  camp, 
I  saw  a  lot  of  ducks  borne  swiftly  down  by  the  cur- 
rent around  the  bend  in  the  river  a  few  rods  above. 
They  saw  me  at  the  same  instant  and  turned  toward 
the  shore.  On  hastening  up  there,  I  found  the  old 
bird  rapidly  leading  her  nearly  grown  brood  through 


216  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

the  woods,  as  if  to  go  around  our  camp.  As  I  pur- 
sued them  they  ran  squawking  with  outstretched 
stubhy  wings,  scattering  right  and  left,  and  seeking 
a  hiding-place  under  the  logs  and  debris.  I  captured 
one  and  carried  it  into  camp.  It  was  just  what  Joe 
wanted;  it  would  make  a  valuable  decoy.  So  he 
kept  it  in  a  box,  fed  it  upon  oats,  and  took  it  out  of 
the  woods  with  him. 

We  found  the  camp  we  had  appropriated  was  a 
favorite  stopping-place  of  the  carmen  who  hauled  in 
supplies  for  the  gang  of  two  hundred  road- builders. 
One  rainy  day  near  nightfall  no  less  than  eight  carts 
drew  up  at  the  old  stable,  and  the  rain-soaked  driv- 
ers, after  picketing  and  feeding  their  horses,  came 
down  to  our  fire.  We  were  away,  and  Joe  met  us 
on  our  return  with  the  unwelcome  news.  We  kept 
open  house  so  far  as  the  fire  was  concerned ;  but  our 
roof  was  a  narrow  one  at  the  best,  and  one  or  two 
leaky  spots  made  it  still  narrower. 

"We  shall  probably  sleep  out-of-doors  to-night," 
said  my  companion,  "unless  we  are  a  match  for  this 
posse  of  rough  teamsters." 

But  the  men  proved  to  be  much  more  peaceably 
disposed  than  the  same  class  at  home;  they  apolo- 
gized for  intruding,  pleading  the  inclemency  of  the 
weather,  and  were  quite  willing,  with  our  permission, 
to  take  up  with  pot-luck  about  the  fire  and  leave  us 
the  shanty.  They  dried  their  clothes  upon  poles 
and  logs,  and  had  their  fun  and  their  bantering  amid 
it  all.  An  Irishman  among  them  did  about  the 
only  growling;  he  invited  himself  into  our  quarters, 


THE   HALCYON   IN   CANADA  217 

and  before  morning  had  Joe's  blanket  about  him  in 
addition  to  his  own. 

On  Friday  we  made  an  excursion  to  Great  Lake 
Jacques  Cartier,  paddling  and  poling  up  the  river 
in  the  rude  box-boat.  It  was  a  bright,  still  morn- 
ing after  the  rain,  and  everything  had  a  new,  fresh 
appearance.  Expectation  was  ever  on  tiptoe  as  each 
turn  in  the  river  opened  a  new  prospect  before  us. 
How  wild,  and  shaggy,  and  silent  it  was!  What 
fascinating  pools,  what  tempting  stretches  of  trout- 
haunted  water !  Now  and  then  we  would  catch  a 
glimpse  of  long  black  shadows  starting  away  from 
the  boat  and  shooting  through  the  sunlit  depths. 
But  no  sound  or  motion  on  shore  was  heard  or  seen. 
Near  the  lake  we  came  to  a  long,  shallow  rapid, 
when  we  pulled  off  our  shoes  and  stockings,  and,  with 
our  trousers  rolled  above  our  knees,  towed  the  boat 
up  it,  wincing  and  cringing  amid  the  sharp,  slippery 
stones.  With  benumbed  feet  and  legs  we  reached 
the  still  water  that  forms  the  stem  of  the  lake,  and 
presently  saw  the  arms  of  the  wilderness  open  and  the 
long  deep  blue  expanse  in  their  embrace.  We  rested 
and  bathed,  and  gladdened  our  eyes  with  the  singu- 
larly beautiful  prospect.  The  shadows  of  summer 
clouds  were  slowly  creeping  up  and  down  the  sides 
of  the  mountains  that  hemmed  it  in.  On  the  far 
eastern  shore,  near  the  head,  banks  of  what  was 
doubtless  white  sand  shone  dimly  in  the  sun,  and 
the  illusion  that  there  was  a  town  nestled  there 
haunted  my  mind  constantly.  It  was  like  a  section 
of  the  Hudson  below  the  Highlands,  except  that 


218  LOCUSTS  AND  WILD   HONEY 

these  waters  were  bluer  and  colder,  and  these  shores 
darker,  than  even  those  Sir  Hendrik  first  looked 
upon;  hut  surely,  one  felt,  a  steamer  will  round  that 
point  presently,  or  a  sail  drift  into  view !  We  pad- 
dled a  mile  or  more  up  the  east  shore,  then  across 
to  the  west,  and  found  such  pleasure  in  simply 
gazing  upon  the  scene  that  our  rods  were  quite 
neglected.  We  did  some  casting  after  a  while,  but 
raised  no  fish  of  any  consequence  till  we  were  in  the 
outlet  again,  when  they  responded  so  freely  that  the 
"  disgust  of  trout "  was  soon  upon  us. 

At  the  rapids,  on  our  return,  as  I  was  standing  to 
my  knees  in  the  swift,  cold  current,  and  casting  into 
a  deep  hole  behind  a  huge  bowlder  that  rose  four  or 
five  feet  above  the  water  amidstream,  two  trout,  one 
of  them  a' large  one,  took  my  flies,  and,  finding  the 
fish  and  the  current  united  too  strong  for  my  tackle, 
I  sought  to  gain  the  top  of  the  bowlder,  in  which 
attempt  I  got  wet  to  my  middle  and  lost  my  fish. 
After  I  had  gained  the  rock,  I  could  not  get  away 
again  with  my  clothes  on  without  swimming,  which, 
to  say  nothing  of  wet  garments  the  rest  of  the  way 
home,  I  did  not  like  to  do  amid  those  rocks  and 
swift  currents ;  so,  after  a  vain  attempt  to  communi- 
cate with  my  companion  above  the  roar  of  the  water, 
I  removed  my  clothing,  left  it  together  with  my 
tackle  upon  the  rock,  and  by  a  strong  effort  stemmed 
the  current  and  reached  the  shore.  The  boat  was  a 
hundred  yards  above,  and  wh*en  I  arrived  there  my 
teeth  were  chattering  with  the  cold,  my  feet  were 
numb  with  bruises,  and  the  black  flies  were  making 


THE  HALCYON  IN  CANADA  219 

the  blood  stream  down  my  back.  We  hastened  back 
with  the  boat,  and,  by  wading  out  into  the  current 
again  and  holding  it  by  a  long  rope,  it  swung  around 
with  my  companion  aboard,  and  was  held  in  the  eddy 
behind  the  rock.  I  clambered  up,  got  my  clothes 
on,  and  we  were  soon  shooting  down  stream  toward 
home;  but  the  winter  of  discontent  that  shrouded 
one  half  of  me  made  sad  inroads  upon  the  placid 
feeling  of  a  day  well  spent  that  enveloped  the  other, 
all  the  way  to  camp. 

That  night  something  carried  off  all  our  fish,  — 
doubtless  a  fisher  or  lynx,  as  Joe  had  seen  an  animal 
of  some  kind  about  camp  that  day. 

I  must  not  forget  the  two  red  squirrels  that  fre- 
quented the  camp  during  our  stay,  and  that  were  so 
tame  they  would  approach  within  a  few*  feet  of  us 
and  take  the  pieces  of  bread  or  fish  tossed  to  them. 
When  a  particularly  fine  piece  of  hard-tack  was  se- 
cured they  would  spin  off  to  their  den  with  it  some- 
where near  by. 

Caribou  abound  in  these  woods,  but  we  saw  only 
their  tracks ;  and  of  bears,  which  are  said  to  be  plen- 
tiful, we  saw  no  signs. 

Saturday  morning  we  packed  up  our  traps  and 
started  on  our  return,  and  found  that  the  other  side 
of  the  spruce-trees  and  the  vista  of  the  lonely  road 
going  south  were  about  the  same  as  coming  north. 
But  we  understood  the  road  better  and  the  buck- 
board  better,  and  our  load  was  lighter,  hence  the 
distance  was  more  easily  accomplished. 

I  saw  a  solitary  robin  by  the  roadside,  and  won- 


220  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

dered  what  could  have  brought  this  social  and  half- 
domesticated  bird  so  far  into  these  wilds.  In  La 
Grande  Brulure,  a  hermit  thrush  perched  upon  a 
dry  tree  in  a  swampy  place  and  sang  most  divinely. 
We  paused  to  listen  to  his  clear,  silvery  strain 
poured  out  without  stint  upon  that  unlistening  soli- 
tude. I  was  half  persuaded  I  had  heard  him  before 
on  first  entering  the  woods. 

We  nooned  again  at  No  Man's  Inn  on  the  banks 
of  a  trout  lake,  and  fared  well  and  had  no  reckoning 
to  pay.  Late  in  the  afternoon  we  saw  a  lonely  pe- 
destrian laboring  up  a  hill  far  ahead  of  us.  When 
he  heard  us  coming  he  leaned  his  back  against  the 
bank,  and  was  lighting  his  pipe  as  we  passed.  He 
was  an  old  man,  an  Irishman,  and  looked  tired. 
He  had  come  from  the  farther  end  of  the  road,  fifty 
miles  distant,  and  had  thirty  yet  before  him  to  reach 
town.  He  looked  the  dismay  he  evidently  felt 
when,  in  answer  to  his  inquiry,  we  told  him  it  was 
yet  ten  miles  to  the  first  house,  La  Chance's.  But 
there  was  a  roof  nearer  than  that,  where  he  doubt- 
less passed  the  night,  for  he  did  not  claim  hospital- 
ity at  the  cabin  of  La  Chance.  We  arrived  there 
betimes,  but  found  the  "  spare  bed  "  assigned  to  other 
guests;  so  we  were  comfortably  lodged  upon  the 
haymow.  One  of  the  boys  lighted  us  up  with  a 
candle  and  made  level  places  for  us  upon  the  hay. 

La  Chance  was  one  of  the  game  wardens,  or  con- 
stables appointed  by  the  government  to  see  the  game 
laws  enforced.  Joe  had  not  felt  entirely  at  his  ease 
about  the  duck  he  was  surreptitiously  taking  to 


THE   HALCYON   IN  CANADA  221 

town,  and  when,  by  its  "quack,  quack,"  it  called 
upon  La  Chance  for  protection,  he  responded  at 
once.  Joe  was  obliged  to  liberate  it  then  and  there, 
and  to  hear  the  law  read  and  expounded,  and  be 
threatened  till  he  turned  pale  beside.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  they  follow  the  home  government  in  the 
absurd  practice  of  enforcing  their  laws  in  Canada. 
La  Chance  said  he  was  under  oath  not  to  wink  at  or 
permit  any  violation  of  the  law,  and  seemed  to  think 
that  made  a  difference. 

We  were  off  early  in  the  morning,  and  before  we 
had  gone  two  miles  met  a  party  from  Quebec  who 
must  have  been  driving  nearly  all  night  to  give  the 
black  flies  an  early  breakfast.  Before  long  a  slow 
rain  set  in;  we  saw  another  party  who  had  taken 
refuge  in  a  house  in  a  grove.  When  the  rain  had 
become  so  brisk  that  we  began  to  think  of  seeking 
shelter  ourselves,  we  passed  a  party  of  young  men 
and  boys  —  sixteen  of  them  —  in  a  cart  turning  back 
to  town,  water-soaked  and  heavy  (for  the  poor  horse 
had  all  it  could  pull),  but  merry  and  good-natured. 
We  paused  a  while  at  the  farmhouse  where  we  had 
got  our  hay  on  going  out,  were  treated  to  a  drink  of 
milk  and  some  wild  red  cherries,  and  when  the  rain 
slackened  drove  on,  and  by  ten  o'clock  saw  the  city 
eight  miles  distant,  with  the  sun  shining  upon  its 
steep  tinned  roofs. 

The  next  morning  we  set  out  per  steamer  for  the 
Saguenay,  and  entered  upon  the  second  phase  of  our 
travels,  but  with  less  relish  than  we  could  have 
wished.  Scenery  hunting  is  the  least  satisfying  pur- 


222  LOCUSTS   AND  WILD  HONEY 

suit  I  have  ever  engaged  in.  What  one  sees  in  his 
necessary  travels,  or  doing  his  work,  or  going  a-fish- 
ing,  seems  worth  while,  but  the  famous  view  you 
go  out  in  cold  blood  to  admire  is  quite  apt  to  elude 
you.  Nature  loves  to  enter  a  door  another  hand 
has  opened;  a  mountain  view,  or  a  waterfall,  I  have 
noticed,  never  looks  better  than  when  one  has  just 
been  warmed  up  by  the  capture  of  a  big  trout.  If 
we  had  been  bound  for  some  salmon  stream  up  the 
Saguenay,  we  should  perhaps  have  possessed  that 
generous  and  receptive  frame  of  mind  —  that  open 
house  of  the  heart  —  which  makes  one  "eligible  to 
any  good  fortune, "  and  the  grand  scenery  would  have 
come  in  as  fit  sauce  to  the  salmon.  An  adventure, 
a  bit  of  experience  of  some  kind,  is  what  one  wants 
when  he  goes  forth  to  admire  woods  and  waters,  — 
something  to  create  a  draught  and  make  the  embers 
of  thought  and  feeling  brighten.  Nature,  like  cer- 
tain wary  game,  is  best  taken  by  seeming  to  pass  by 
her  intent  on  other  matters. 

But  without  any  such  errand,  or  occupation,  or 
indirection,  we  managed  to  extract  considerable  satis- 
faction from  the  view  of  the  lower  St.  Lawrence  and 
the  Saguenay. 

We  had  not  paid  the  customary  visit  to  the  falls 
of  the  Montmorenci,  but  we  shall  see  them  after 
all,  for  before  we  are  a  league  from  Quebec  they 
come  into  view  on  the  left.  A  dark  glen  or  chasm 
there  at  the  end  of  the  Beauport  Slopes  seems  sud- 
denly to  have  put  on  a  long  white  apron.  By  in- 
tently gazing,  one  can  see  the  motion  and  falling  of 


THE   HALCYON   IN   CANADA  223 

the  water,  though  it  is  six  or  seven  miles  away. 
There  is  no  sign  of  the  river  above  or  below  but  this 
trembling  white  curtain  of  foam  and  spray. 

It  was  very  sultry  when  we  left  Quebec,  but 
about  noon  we  struck  much  clearer  and  cooler  air, 
and  soon  after  ran  into  an  immense  wave  or  puff  of 
fog  that  came  drifting  up  the  river  and  set  all  the 
fog-guns  booming  along  shore.  We  were  soon 
through  it  into  clear,  crisp  space,  with  room  enough 
for  any  eye  to  range  in.  On  the  south  the  shores  of 
the  great  river  appear  low  and  uninteresting,  but  on 
the  north  they  are  bold  and  striking  enough  to  make 
it  up,  —  high,  scarred,  unpeopled  mountain  ranges 
the  whole  way.  The  points  of  interest  to  the  eye 
in  the  broad  expanse  of  water  were  the  white  por- 
poises that  kept  rolling,  rolling  in  the  distance,  all 
day.  They  came  up  like  the  perimeter  of  a  great 
wheel  that  turns  slowly  and  then  disappears.  From 
mid-forenoon  we  could  see  far  ahead  an  immense 
column  of  yellow  smoke  rising  up  and  flattening  out 
upon  the  sky  and  stretching  away  beyond  the  hori- 
zon. Its  form  was  that  of  some  aquatic  plant  that 
shoots  a  stem  up  through  the  water,  and  spreads  its 
broad  leaf  upon  the  surface.  This  smoky  lily-pad 
must  have  reached  nearly  to  Maine.  It  proved  to  be 
in  the  Indian  country  in  the  mountains  beyond  the 
mouth  of  the  Saguenay,  and  must  have  represented 
an  immense  destruction  of  forest  timber. 

The  steamer  is  two  hours  crossing  the  St.  Law- 
rence from  Kiviere  du  Loup  to  Tadousac.  The 
Saguenay  pushes  a  broad  sweep  of  dark  blue  water 


224  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

down  into  its  mightier  brother  that  is  sharply  de- 
fined from  the  deck  of  the  steamer.  The  two  rivers 
seem  to  touch,  but  not  to  blend,  so  proud  and 
haughty  is  this  chieftain  from  the  north.  On  the 
mountains  above  Tadousac  one  could  see  banks  of 
sand  left  by  the  ancient  seas.  Naked  rock  and  ster- 
ile sand  are  all  the  Tadousacker  has  to  make  his 
garden  of,  so  far  as  I  observed.  Indeed,  there  is  no 
soil  along  the  Saguenay  until  you  get  to  Ha-ha  Bay, 
and  then  there  is  not  much,  and  poor  quality  at 
that. 

What  the  ancient  fires  did  not  burn  the  ancient 
seas  have  washed  away.  I  overheard  an  English 
resident  say  to  a  Yankee  tourist,  "You  will  think 
you  are  approaching  the  end  of  the  world  up  here." 
It  certainly  did  suggest  something  apocryphal  or 
antemundane,  —  a  segment  of  the  moon  or  of  a  cleft 
asteroid,  matter  dead  or  wrecked.  The  world-build- 
ers must  have  had  their  foundry  up  in  this  neigh- 
borhood, and  the  bed  of  this  river  was  doubtless  the 
channel  through  which  the  molten  granite  flowed. 
Some  mischief-loving  god  has  let  in  the  sea  while 
things  were  yet  red-hot,  and  there  has  been  a  time 
here.  But  the  channel  still  seems  filled  with  water 
from  the  mid- Atlantic,  cold  and  blue-black,  and  in 
places  between  seven  and  eight  thousand  feet  deep 
(one  and  a  half  miles).  In  fact  the  enormous  depth 
of  the  Saguenay  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  physical 
geography.  It  is  as  great  a  marvel  in  its  way  as 
Niagara. 

The  ascent  of  the  river  is  made  by  night,   and 


THE  HALCYON  IN  CANADA        225 

the  traveler  finds  himself  in  Ha-ha  Bay  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  steamer  lies  here  several  hours  before 
starting  on  her  return  trip,  and  takes  in  large  quan- 
tities of  white  birch  wood,  as  she  does  also  at  Ta- 
dousac.  The  chief  product  of  the  country  seemed 
to  be  huckleberries,  of  which  large  quantities  are 
shipped  to  Quebec  in  rude  board  boxes  holding  about 
a  peck  each.  Little  girls  came  aboard  or  lingered 
about  the  landing  with  cornucopias  of  birch-bark 
filled  with  red  raspberries;  five  cents  for  about  half 
a  pint  was  the  usual  price.  The  village  of  St.  Al- 
phonse,  where  the  steamer  tarries,  is  a  cluster  of 
small,  humble  dwellings  dominated,  like  all  Canadian 
villages,  by  an  immense  church.  Usually  the  church 
will  hold  all  the  houses  in  the  village;  pile  them  all 
up  and  they  would  hardly  equal  it  in  size;  it  is  the 
one  conspicuous  object,  and  is  seen  afar;  and  on  the 
various  lines  of  travel  one  sees  many  more  priests 
than  laymen.  They  appear  to  be  about  the  only 
class  that  stir  about  and  have  a  good  time.  Many 
of  the  houses  were  covered  with  birch- bark,  —  the 
canoe  birch,  —  held  to  its  place  by  perpendicular 
strips  of  board  or  split  poles. 

A  man  with  a  horse  and  a  buckboard  persuaded 
us  to  give  him  twenty-five  cents  each  to  take  us  two 
miles  up  the  St.  Alphonse  Kiver  to  see  the  salmon 
jump.  There  is  a  high  saw-mill  dam  there  which 
every  salmon  in  his  upward  journey  tries  his  hand 
at  leaping.  A  raceway  has  been  constructed  around 
the  dam  for  their  benefit,  which  it  seems  they  do 
not  use  till  they  have  repeatedly  tried  to  scale  the 


226  LOCUSTS   AND   WILD   HONEY 

dam.  The  day  before  our  visit  three  dead  fish  were 
found  in  the  pool  below,  killed  by  too  much  jump- 
ing. Those  we  saw  had  the  jump  about  all  taken 
out  of  them;  several  did  not  get  more  than  half 
their  length  out  of  the  water,  and  occasionally  only 
an  impotent  nose  would  protrude  from  the  foam. 
One  fish  made  a  leap  of  three  or  four  feet  and  landed 
on  an  apron  of  the  dam  and  tumbled  helplessly 
back;  he  shot  up  like  a  bird  and  rolled  back  like  a 
clod.  This  was  the  only  view  of  salmon,  the  buck 
of  the  rivers,  we  had  on  our  journey. 

It  was  a  bright  and  flawless  midsummer  day  that 
we  sailed  down  the  Saguenay,  and  nothing  was  want- 
ing but  a  good  excuse  for  being  there.  The  river 
was  as  lonely  as  the  St.  John's  road;  not  a  sail  or 
a  smokestack  the  whole  sixty-five  miles.  The  scen- 
ery culminates  at  Cape  Trinity,  where  the  rocks 
rise  sheer  from  the  water  to  a  height  of  eighteen 
hundred  feet.  This  view  dwarfed  anything  I  had 
ever  before  seen.  There  is  perhaps  nothing  this 
side  the  Yosemite  chasm  that  equals  it,  and,  emp- 
tied of  its  water,  this  chasm  would  far  surpass  that 
famous  canon,  as  the  river  here  is  a  mile  and  a  quar- 
ter deep.  The  bald  eagle  nests  in  the  niches  in  the 
precipice  secure  from  any  intrusion.  Immense  blocks 
of  the  rock  had  fallen  out,  leaving  areas  of  shadow 
and  clinging  overhanging  masses  that  were  a  terror 
and  fascination  to  the  eye.  There  was  a  great  fall 
a  few  years  ago,  just  as  the  steamer  had  passed  from 
under  and  blown  her  whistle  to  awake  the  echoes. 
The  echo  came  back,  and  with  it  a  part  of  the  moun- 


THE   HALCYON  IN  CANADA  227 

tain  that  astonished  more  than  it  delighted  the  look- 
ers-on. The  pilot  took  us  close  around  the  base  of 
the  precipice  that  we  might  fully  inspect  it.  And 
here  my  eyes  played  me  a  trick  the  like  of  which 
they  had  never  done  before.  One  of  the  boys  of 
the  steamer  brought  to  the  forward  deck  his  hands 
full  of  stones,  that  the  curious  ones  among  the  pas- 
sengers might  try  how  easy  it  was  to  throw  one 
ashore.  "Any  girl  ought  to  do  it,"  I  said  to  my- 
self, after  a  man  had  tried  and  had  failed  to  clear 
half  the  distance.  Seizing  a  stone,  I  cast  it  with 
vigor  and  confidence,  and  as  much  expected  to  see 
it  smite  the  rock  as  I  expected  to  live.  "It  is  a 
good  while  getting  there, "  I  mused,  as  I  watched  its 
course:  down,  down  it  went;  there,  it  will  ring 
upon  the  granite  in  half  a  breath ;  no,  down  —  into 
the  water,  a  little  more  than  half  way!  "Has  my 
arm  lost  its  cunning  1 "  I  said,  and  tried  again  and 
again,  but  with  like  result.  The  eye  was  completely 
at  fault.  There  was  a  new  standard  of  size  before 
it  to  which  it  failed  to  adjust  itself.  The  rock  is 
so  enormous  and  towers  so  above  you  that  you  get 
the  impression  it  is  much  nearer  than  it  actually  is. 
When  the  eye  is  full  it  says,  "Here  we  are,"  and 
the  hand  is  ready  to  prove  the  fact;  but  in  this  case 
there  is  an  astonishing  discrepancy  between  what  the 
eye  reports  and  what  the  hand  finds  out. 

Cape  Eternity,  the  wife  of  this  colossus,  stands 
across  a  chasm  through  which  flows  a  small  tributary 
of  the  Saguenay,  and  is  a  head  or  two  shorter,  as  be- 
comes a  wife,  and  less  rugged  and  broken  in  outline. 


228  LOCUSTS  AND   WILD   HONEY 

From  Riviere  du  Loup,  where  we  passed  the  night 
and  ate  our  first  "Tommy-cods,"  our  thread  of  travel 
makes  a  big  loop  around  New  Brunswick  to  St. 
John,  thence  out  and  down  through  Maine  to  Bos- 
ton, —  a  thread  upon  which  many  delightful  excur- 
sions and  reminiscences  might  be  strung.  We  trav- 
ersed the  whole  of  the  valley  of  the  Metapedia,  and 
passed  the  doors  of  many  famous  salmon  streams  and 
rivers,  and  heard  everywhere  the  talk  they  inspire; 
one  could  not  take  a  nap  in  the  car  for  the  excite- 
ment of  the  big  fish  stories  he  was  obliged  to  over- 
hear. 

The  Metapedia  is  a  most  enticing-looking  stream; 
its  waters  are  as  colorless  as  melted  snow;  I  could 
easily  have  seen  the  salmon  in  it  as  we  shot  along, 
if  they  had  come  out  from  their  hiding-places.  It 
was  the  first  white-water  stream  we  had  seen  since 
leaving  the  Catskills;  for  all  the  Canadian  streams 
are  black  or  brown,  either  from  the  iron  in  the  soil 
or  from  the  leechings  of  the  spruce  swamps.  But 
in  New  Brunswick  we  saw  only  these  clear,  silver- 
shod  streams;  I  imagined  they  had  a  different  ring 
or  tone  also.  The  Metapedia  is  deficient  in  good 
pools  in  its  lower  portions ;  its  limpid  waters  flowing 
with  a  tranquil  murmur  over  its  wide,  evenly  paved 
bed  for  miles  at  a  stretch.  The  salmon  pass  over 
these  shallows  by  night  and  rest  in  the  pools  by  day. 
The  Restigouche,  which  it  joins,  and  which  is  a 
famous  salmon  stream  and  the  father  of  famous 
salmon  streams,  is  of  the  same  complexion  and  a 
delight  to  look  upon.  There  is  a  noted  pool  where 


THE  HALCYON  IN  CANADA        229 

the  two  join,  and  one  can  sit  upon  the  railroad 
bridge  and  count  the  noble  fish  in  the  lucid  depths 
below.  The  valley  here  is  fertile,  and  has  a  culti- 
vated, well-kept  look. 

We  passed  the  Jacquet,  the  Belledune,  the  Ne- 
pissisquit,  the  Miramichi  ("happy  retreat")  in  the 
night,  and  have  only  their  bird-call  names  to  report. 


INDEX 


ANEMONE,  2. 

Bobolink  (Dolichonyx  oryzivonu\ 

Angler,  a  born,  98-100  ;  eagerness 
of  the,  204,  205. 

61,97,116;  song  of  ,  57,  125. 
Boy,  171. 

Arbutus,  2. 

Brooks.    See  Trout  streams. 

Asters,  6. 

Buckwheat,  6. 

Audubon,   John   James,  125,    144, 

Bumble-bee,  4,  61. 

145. 
Aurora  borealis,  an,  108,  109. 

Bunting,  European,  notes  of,  132. 
Bunting,  indigo.    See  Indigo-bird. 
Bunting,  snow,  or  snowflake  (Plec- 

Balsam  Lake,  118-122. 

trophenaz  nivalis),  134. 

Barrington,    Daines,    his   table    of 

Butcher-bird,   or    northern    shrike 

English  song-birds,  130,  131. 

(Laniuis   borealis),   134  ;    appear- 

Basswood, or  linden,  5. 

ance  and  habits  of,  135-142  ;  notes 

Bear,    black    (Ursus  americanus), 

of,  140-142.     See  Shrike. 

116,  219. 

Buttercup,  97. 

Beaverkill,  the,  101,  112,  113  ;  trout- 

ing  on,  116-118. 

Camp,  a  thunder-storm  in,  87-91  ; 

Bee.     See  Bumblebee  and  Honey- 

in the  rain,  102-106;  books  hi, 

bee. 

161. 

Berries,  225. 

Camp-fire,  the,  159,  160. 

Berrying,  60-62. 
Big  lugin  River,  101. 

Camping,  by  trout  stream  and  lake, 
101-123  ;  in  a  log  stable,  105-112  ; 

Birch,  yellow,  159,  160. 

pleasures  and  discomforts  of,  122, 

Birds,  eyes   of,  43,  48;  imperfect 

123;    in   the    Catskills,  149-175; 

singers  among,  115,  116;  human 

thoughts  of  the  camper,  100  ;  in 

significance  of,  125,  126  ;  songs  of 

Canada,  203-219. 

English,  129-133  ;  relative  pugna- 

Canada,  an  excursion  in,  189-229; 

ciousness  of  English  and  Ameri- 

dwelling-houses    in,     191,    225; 

can,  134  ;  species  common  to  Eu- 

churches in,  225. 

rope  and  America,  134  ;  small  and 
large  editions  of  various  species 
of,   143-147  ;  their    ingenuity  in 
the  concealment  of  their  nests, 

Cape  Eternity,  227. 
Cape  Trinity,  226,  227. 
Caribou    (liangijer  tarandus  var. 
caribou),  219. 

186,  187. 

Catbird  (Galeoscoples  carolinentis), 

Birds  of  prey,  135. 
Biscuit  Brook,  112,  114,  172. 

song  of,  126. 
Catfish  and  snake,  47,  48. 

Blackbird,    European,    133;    notes 

Catnip,  4. 

of,  132. 

Catskill    Mountains,    camping    in, 

Blackbird,   red-winged.     See  Star- 

149-175. 

ling,  red-shouldered. 
Bloodroot,  2. 
Bluebird  (Sialia  sialu),  struggling 

Cattle,  in  Canada,  196. 
Cedar-bird,  or  cedar  waxwing  (Am~ 
prlis  cedrorum),  a  small  edition  of 

with  a  cicada,  29,  30  ;   courting, 

the  Bohemian  waxwing,  143  ;  plu- 

31 ;  cares  of  housekeeping,  31,  32  ; 
and  screech  owl,  50,   131  ;  notes 

mage  of,  144  ;  notes  of,  144. 
Chickadee  (Parut  atricapillus),  38: 

of,  31,  32  ;  nest  of,  31,  32. 

notes  of,  126. 

Blunder-heads,  171. 

Chipmunk  (Tamias  slriatus)  fright- 

232 


INDEX 


ened  by  a  shrike,  138,  13<»  ;  steal- 
ing strawberries,  179,  180  ;  play- 
ing tag,  183  ;  never  more  than 
one  jump  from  home,  183. 

Clouds,  natural  history  of,  78-80  ; 
rain-clouds  and  wind-clouds,  85- 
87. 

Clover,  red,  4. 

Clover,  white,  3. 

Coon.    See  Raccoon. 

Corn,  Indian,  4. 

Corydalis,  2. 

Crossbills,  134. 

Crow,  American  (Coma  ameri- 
canus),  48,  126,  187  ;  notes  of,  187. 

Crow,  fish  (Corvus  ossifraguu),  a 
sneak  thief,  187. 

Cuckoo  (Coccyzus  sp.),  parents, 
eggs,  and  young,  36,  37  ;  breeding 
habits  of,  37,  46  ;  appearance  and 
habits  of,  126-129  ;  notes  of,  127, 
128  ;  nest  of,  36,  37,  127,  129. 

Cuckoo,  European,  126-129  ;  in  lit- 
erature, 126-129;  notes  of,  127- 
129. 

Daisy,  ox-eye,  59,  60. 

Dandelion,  4. 

Deer,   Virginia    (Cariacut    virgin- 

tantw),  116. 

Delaware  River,  100,  101. 
Dove,    mourning    (Zenaidura   ma- 

croura),  notes  of,  125. 
Drought,  72-75. 
Ducks,   wild,  voices  of,   132;  211, 

215,  216. 

Eagle,  bald  (ffalite&tu  leucocepfta- 

ftw),  211,  215  ;  nest  of,  226. 
Esopus  Creek,  101. 
Eyes,  of  man,  27,  28,  43;  of  birds, 

Farmer,  an  observing,  34-40. 
Farmers,  their  dependence  on  the 

weather,  65  ;  weather-wisdom  of, 

84,86. 

Fieldfare,  133  ;  notes  of,  132. 
Finch,  purple  (Carpodacut  purpu- 

reu*),   the  alter  ego  of  the  pine 

grosbeak,  145  ;  song  of,  145. 
Fishing.     See  Trout-fishing. 
Flicker.    See  High-hole. 
Flies,  black,  200,  218. 
Flycatcher,   great  crested  (Myiar- 

chus  criniltu),  134  ;   nest  of,  40. 
Forest,  a  spruce,  200,  201  ;  a  burnt, 

202. 
Fox,  red  (Vulpet  wipes,  var.  ftd- 

vut) 


. 

red  (Vulpet  wipes,  var. 
t),  bark  of,  131  ;  135,  177. 


French    Canadians,    196-199,    216, 


Ghost  story,  a,  163,  164. 

Girl's  voice,  a,  172. 

Goethe,  on  the  weather,  67,  68,  79. 

Goldenrod,  6. 

Goldfinch,  American  (Spinus  tris- 

tis),  a  shrike  in  a  flock  of,  136-138. 
Goose,  wild  or  Canada  (Branta  can- 

adensis),  notes  of,  126,  132. 
Grande  Brfilure,  La,  202. 
Greenfinch,  134. 
Grosbeak,  blue  (Guiraca  ccentlea), 

its  resemblance  to  the  indigo-bird, 

146,  147  ;  song  of,  146,  147  ;  nest 

of,  146. 
Grosbeak,   pine   (Pinicola  enuclea- 

lor),  134 ;  appearance  and  habits 

of,  145,  146  ;  song  of,  145. 
Grouse,  ruffed.    See  Partridge. 
Grouse,   spruce    or  Canada    (Den- 

dragapus  canadensis),  201. 
Guide,  a   Canadian,  195,  196,  198, 

216,220,221. 

Hawk,  worried  by  the  kingbird,  39, 
136.  See  Hen-hawk. 

Hawk,  chicken,  a  provident,  49. 

Hawk,  fish,  or  American  osprey 
(Pandion  haliaetus  carolinensis), 
211,  215. 

Hen-hawk,  a  love  passage,  38 ;  in- 
cubating habits,  39. 

Hepatica,  2. 

Highfall  Brook,  112. 

High-hole,  or  golden-shafted  wood- 
pecker, or  flicker  (Colaptes  aura- 
ins),  a  household  of,  32-34  ;  a  tame 
young  one,  34-36  ;  nest  of,  32-34. 

Honey,  as  an  article  of  food,  22, 23 ; 
with  the  ancients  and  in  mythol- 
ogy, 23-25  ;  of  various  countries. 
25,26. 

Honey-bee,  gathering  honey  and 
pollen,  1-7  ;  wax-making,  7,  8 ; 
life  of  the  drone,  8-9 ;  life  of  the 
queen,  9-13  ;  democratic  govern- 
ment, 11 ;  description  of  queen 
and  drone,  12  ;  swarming,  13-21 ; 
wildness  of,  14;  favorite  hives, 
21 ;  mortality  of,  21,  22 ;  acuteness 
of  sight,  22. 

Honey-locust,  3. 

Horse-fly,  200. 

Hummingbird,  ruby-throated  (Tro- 
chilus  colubris),  strange  death  of 
a,  38  ;  nest  of,  187. 

Hyla,  Pickering's,  in    the    woods, 


INDEX 


233 


Indigo-bird,  or  indigo  bunting  (Pas- 
serina  cyanea),  a  petit  duplicate 
of  the  blue  grosbeak,  146,  147  ; 
song  of,  14G ;  nest  of,  147. 

Jackdaw,  nest  of,  133. 

Jacques  Cartier  River,  trouting  on, 
203-219. 

Jay,  blue  (Cyanocilta  cratata),  48  ; 
worrying  a  screech  owl,  49,  50. 

Jay,  Canada  (Perisoreus  canaden- 
sis),  215. 

Jay,  European,  notes  of,  132. 

Junco,  slate-colored.  See  Snow- 
bird. 

Kingbird  ( Tyrannm  tyrannus),  wor- 
rying hawks,  39, 134,  187. 

Kingfisher,  belted  (Ceryle  alcyon), 
165,  189  ;  notes  of,  189,  215 ;  nest 
of,  189. 

Kinglet  (Regulus  sp.),  215. 

La  Chance,  197-199,  220,  221. 
Lake,  nature  as  seen  from  a,  210, 

211  ;  life  in  and  about  a,  211,  212. 
Lake  Jacques  Cartier,  Great,  203; 

an  excursion  to,  217,  218. 
Lake  Jacques  Cartier,  Little,  204; 

trout-fishing  in,  210-214. 
Lake  Memphremagog,  190. 
Lake  St.  John,  194,  195. 
Lark.    See  Skylark. 
Lark,   shore    or    horned    (Otocoris 

alpestris),  134. 

Ledges,  the  fascination  of,  178. 
Lily,  spotted,  97. 
Linden.    See  Basswood. 
Locusts,  as  an  article  of  food,  25. 
Longspur,  Lapland  (Calcarius  lap- 

ponicus),  134. 
Loon    (Urinator   imber),  211-213; 

laughter  of,  208,  211,  213. 

Maiden,  a  backwoods,  173, 174. 

Maple,  red,  2. 

Maple,  sugar,  2. 

Marigold,  marsh,  97. 

Marmot.    See  Woodchuck. 

MeadowlarkCtSVurnp/fa  magna),  97. 

Metapedia  River,  228. 

Midges,  107,  108. 

Mockingbird  (Mimus  polyglottos), 

133;  song  of,  125,  131. 
Montmorenci,  Falls  of,  222,  223. 
Moose  (Alee  alces),  202. 
Morancy  River,  202. 
Mountains,  poetry  of,  157, 158. 
Mouse,  common  house  (Mus  muscu- 

lus),  134. 


Neversink  River,  trouting  on,  101- 
114  ;  trouting  on  the  East  Branch 
of,  166. 

New  Brunswick,  journey  through, 
228,  229 ;  streams  of,  228. 

Nightingale,  notes  of,  131,  132. 

Observation,  powers  and  habits  of, 

27,  28,  43-47. 
Oriole,  Baltimore  (Icterus  galbula), 

nest  of,  28. 

Osprey,  American.    See  Hawk,  fish. 
Ouzel,  ring,  133. 
Oven-bird    (Seiurus    aurocapillus), 

165. 
Owl,     screech     (Megascops    asio), 

worried  by  other  birds,  49,  50  ;  in 

captivity,  50,  51 ;  wail  of,  164. 

Panther,  American  (Felis  concolor), 

cry  of,  131. 
Partridge,  or  ruffed  grouse  (Bonasa 

umbellus),  42,  177. 
Peakamoose,  158. 
Pewee,    wood    (Contopus   virens), 

notes  of,  126. 
Phoehe-bird  (Sayornis  phcebe),  151, 

Pigeon,  passenger  (Ecfopistes  miara- 

torius),  142,  170,  201;   nests  of, 

102,  170,  171. 
Pipit,  American,  or  titlark  (Anthut 

pensilvanicus),  45. 
Porcupine,  Canada  (Erethizon  dorsa- 

tus),  adventure  with  a,  109-111 ; 

description  of,  111 ;  his  armor  of 

quills,  111,  112  ;  at  Balsam  Lake, 

121,  168. 
Porpoise,  white,  223. 

Quebec,  192-194. 

Raccoon,  or  coon  (Procyon  lolor), 
voice  of,  132  ;  den  of,  177. 

Rain,  waves  and  pulsations  of,  69 ; 
history  of,  69,  70 ;  relaxing  effect 
of,  71 ;  necessary  to  the  mind,  72 ; 
after  drought,  75,  76  ;  importance 
to  man  of  an  abundance,  77 ; 
curious  things  reported  to  have 
fallen  in,  77,  78  ;  the  formation  of, 
78-80;  storms,  80-83;  effect  of 
electricity  on,  82 ;  in  winter  and 
spring,  82,  83 ;  signs  of,  84-87 ;  in 
camp,  102-106.  See  Thunder- 
storms and  Weather. 

Raspberry,  red,  3,  225. 

Rat,  135,  170. 

Rat,  wood  (Neotoma  floridana), 
169, 170. 


234 


INDEX 


Redpoll  (Acanthis  linaria),  45, 134. 

Redstart,  European,  nest  of,  133. 

Redwing,  133. 

Restigouche  River,  228. 

Riviere  du  Loup,  223,  228. 

Robin,   American    (Merula  migra- 

toria),  219 ;  notes  of,  83,  126. 
Robin  redbreast,  song  of,  131. 
Rondout  Creek,  101 ;  camping  and 

trouting  on,  150-164. 
Rose,  4. 
Rye,  4. 

Saguenay  River,  scenery  of,  221- 
St.  Aiphonse,  225. 
St.  Lawrence,  191,  192  ;  down  the, 

221-224. 

Salmon,  225,  226,  228. 
Sapsucker,     yellow  -  bellied.      See 

Woodpecker,  yellow-bellied. 
Scenery-hunting,  221,  222. 
Schoolhouse,  a  country,  174. 
Shakespeare,  quotations  from,  129, 

158  ;  power  and  beauty  in  his  po- 
etry, 157,  158. 
Shanly,     C.     D.,   his    poem.      The 

Walker  of  the  Snow,  161-163. 
Shrike  (Lanius  sp.),  38. 
Shrike,    northern.     See    Butcher- 
bird. 

Silkweed,  6. 
Skunk  (Mephitis  mephilica),  den  of, 

177. 

Skylark,  song  of,  130. 
Snake,  and  catfish,  46-48. 
Snapdragon,  6. 
Snow,  a  sign  of,  86. 
Snowbird,    or    slate-colored    junco 

(Junco  hyemalis),  136,  170. 
Snowflake.    See  Bunting,  snow. 
Sparrow,  English  (Passer  domfsli- 

cus),  a  comedy,  28,  29  ;  130,  131, 

134 ;  notes  of  130,  132. 
Sparrow,  reed,  song  of,  130. 
Sparrow,  song  (Melospiza  fasciala), 

song  of,  125. 
Sparrow,    white-throated  (Zonotri- 

chia  albicollis),  song  of,  198,  215. 
Sparrows,  songs  of,  130. 
Spring-beauty,  2. 
Spruce,  a  Canadian  forest  of,  200, 

201. 
Squirrel,    gray  (Sciurus  carolinen- 

sis,  var.  leucolis),  44. 
Squirrel,  red  (Sciurus  h«dsonicus), 

168, 169  ;  playing  tag,  183,  219. 
Starling,  European,  notes  of,  132  ; 

nest  of,  133. 
Starling,   red-shouldered,    or   red- 


winged  blackbird  (Agelaius  pfue- 

niceus),  97. 
Strawberries,  Dr.  Parr  and,  53  ;  Dr. 

Boteler  on,  53 ;  praise  of,  53-55 ; 

odor  of,  55  ;  Downer,  55,  56,  64 : 

Wilson,  56;  wild,  57-61,  179,  180, 

196;  alpine,   59;    cultivation  of, 

63,64. 
Sumach,  6. 

Swallow,  an  albino,  37. 
Swallows,  on  damp  days,  38,  39. 
Swift,  European,  notes  of,  132. 

Tadousac,  223,  224. 

Tanager,  scarlet  (Piranga  erythro- 
mel(is),  song  of,  126. 

Thorean,  Henry  D.,  78;  quotation 
from,  141,  142. 

Throstle,  133. 

Thrush,  hermit  (Turdus  aonalasch- 
kce  pallasii),  115,  116 ;  song  of, 
125, 220. 

Thrush,  missel,  134;  pugnacious- 
ness  of,  133 ;  notes  of,  132. 

Thrush,  White's,  133. 

Thrush,  wood  (Turdus  mustelinus), 
song  of,  125. 

Thunder-storms,  82 ;  in  the  woods, 
87-91. 

Titlark.    See  Pipit,  American. 

Tree-toads,  young,  78. 

Trout,  brook,  markings  of,  93 ;  of 
the  Neversink,  101;  cannibals, 
113,  114 ;  of  the  Beaverkill,  117 ; 
jumping,  119,  120;  of  Balsam 
Lake,  120, 121  ;  152 ;  spawning  of, 
154  ;  of  the  Catskill  waters,  154, 
155 ;  an  unsuccessful  fight  with  a, 
155,  156  ;  202  ;  a  six-pound,  205- 
209 ;  two  varieties  in  Jacques 
Cartier  River,  209 ;  214,  215. 

Trout-fishing,  as  an  introduction 
to  nature,  93,  94 ;  the  heart  the 
proper baitin,98,99;  ontheNever- 
sink,  101-114 ;  on  the  Beaverkill, 
116-118;  in  Balsam  Lake,  119, 
120 ;  pleasures  and  discomforts  of 
an  excursion,  122,  123 ;  on  the 
Rondout,  153-156;  on  the  East 
Branch  of  the  Neversink,  166 ;  in 
Canada,  201,  204-219  ;  catching  a 
six-pounder,  205-209. 

Trout  streams,  beauties  of,  94  ;  the 
ideal,  97,  98  ;  at  the  head  waters 
of  the  Delaware,  100,  101 ;  clear- 
ness of,  152  ;  thriving  only  in  the 
woods,  203. 

Violets,  2, 

Vireo,  song  of,  125. 


INDEX 


235 


Vireo,  red-eyed  (Vireo  olivaceut), 
scmg  of,  167. 

Walker  of  the  Snow,  The,  by  C.  D. 
Shanly,  161-163. 

Walking,  benefits  of.  175. 

Wallkill  River,  101. 

Warbler,  Blackburnian  (Dendroica 
blackburnia),  186. 

Warbler,  black-throated  blue  (Den- 
droica carulescens),  165 ;  finding 
the  nest  and  young  of,  180-186 ; 
notes  of,  181,  182,  184 ;  nest  of, 
180-186. 

Warbler,  Canada  (Sylvania  cana- 
densis),  165,  186. 

Warbler,  chestnut-sided  (Dendroica 
pensylvanica),  165,  186. 

Warbler,  mourning  (GeotMypis 
Philadelphia),  107,  186. 

Warbler,  yellow-rumped  or  myrtle 
(Dendroica  coronata),  rescue  of 
a,  122 ;  215. 

Water,  its  importance  in  nature  and 
in  the  life  of  man,  69-71. 

Water-wagtail,  small,  or  water- 
thrush  (Seiurus  noveboracensis), 
107. 

Waxwing,  Bohemian  (Ampelit  gar- 
rulus),  143,  144. 

Waxwing,  cedar.     See  Cedar-bird. 

Weather,  the,  the  farmer's  depend- 
ence on,  65 ;  human  changeable- 
ness  of,  65,  66  ;  getting  into  a  rut, 


66,  67 ;  in  literature,  67,  68 ;  tho 
law  of  alternation  in,  68  ;  dry,  72- 
75 ;  laws  of,  83-87.  See  Kain  and 
Thunder-storms. 

Weather-breeders,  84,  85. 

Weather-wisdom,  84-87. 

Wheat,  4. 

Whip-poor-will  (Antrostomus  vocif- 
erus),  mother,  eggs,  and  young, 
40-42 ;  an  awkward  walker,  41, 42 ; 
nest  of,  40. 

White,  Gilbert,  130,  133. 

Whitethroat,  134 ;  notes  of,  132. 

Whitman,  Walt,  quotation  from,  71. 

Wilson,  Alexander,  quotation  from, 

Woodchuck,  or  marmot  (Arctomyt 
monax),  42,  179;  hole  of,  177, 
179. 

Wood-grouse,  134. 

Woodpecker,  downy  (Dryobates  pu- 
bescent}, 48. 

Woodpecker,  golden-shafted.  See 
High-hole. 

Woodpecker,  yellow-bellied,  or  yel- 
low-bellied sapsucker  (Sphyrapi- 

Wordsworth,'  William,  quotations 
from,  128,  157  ;  the  poet  of  the 
mountains,  158. 

Wren,  European,  song  of,  130. 

Wren,  winter  (Troglodytes  fiiema- 
to),  165. 

Wrens,  songs  of,  130. 


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